HARPERS
NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
No. LXI.JUNE, i8~.YoL XI,
TO what extent active stimulants are neces
isary for the health of the body and the
development of the intellect, affords a subject of
speculation which, it seems, will never be brought
to a satisfactory conclusion. Speaking without
referring to the experience of all ages, we would
say that, beyond a sufficiency of wholesome food,
nothing more was necessary to sustain the hu-
man body in its greatest perfection; yet it is
notorious that, from the earliest ages and among
~ all peoples, the custom has prevailed of using a
thousand substances, evidently for no other pur
& ~ pose than to give unnatural acceleration to the
system; and thus, through the body, add im
THE HISTORY AKI) MYSTERY
OF TOBACCO.
Entered according to Act of Congress. in the year 1855, by Harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the
District Court for the Southern District of New York.
VOL. XI.No. 61.A2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
pulse to the workings of the immaterial and im-
mortal principle.
Tobacco, if not a necessary of life, has be-
come very essential to human happiness; for
its use is seen among all nations, and in-
eludes every class of people, from the most
savage to the most refined. Considering the
comparatively short time that the plant has
been known, its universality is past comprehen-
sion, and the mind is lost in the attempt to dis-
cern the elements of its propagation. In some
countries, men, women, and even children, are
its slaves. Witness the devotion to it among
the Turks, the Persians, and other Eastern na-
tionswe can not recall them to our minds
without imagining the pipe. In the Berman
Empire it is said that both sexes smoke inces-
santly. In China an indispensable article of a
ladys dress is a pocket in which to carry a pipe
and tohacco. In all South America the women
as well as the men indulge in the weed; and in
Lima the sex, in every condition of life, puff
their cigaritos in the streets. In Mexico the la-
dies have their little cigar, and use it~with a
grace that goes far to reconcile one to the cus-
tom. The French, Spanish, and Italians also
use tobacco, but less than all other nations are
amenable to the charge of abusing it. The En-
glish consume an immense quantity, and take
the lead in snuffing. Tobacco is every where to
he met among the northern nations of Europe.
The Germans smoke all the time, in all places,
and often when asleep as well as when awake.
Americans who have gone to their conntry ap-
parently as smoke-hardened as a ham, have in-
timation that, by comparison, they were not
capable of sustaining the reputation of being
great consumers of the weed. In the United
States more tobacco is raised and destroyed, in
proportion to the population, than in any other
country; but we waste, by our extravagance,
qnite as much as we consume.
What were the vegetable substances used by
the ancients to prodnce inspiration is not
known. We have information enough, how-
ever, to enlighten ns as to their effects, in the
descriptions of the celebrations of the Egyptian
mysteries, of the strange infatuations of the
GrecIan oracles, and in the grosser entertain-
ments of decaying Rome. In the East Indies
there has been nsed from time immemorial an
extract of hemp, which is said to be infinitely
more pernicious than any other stimulant, and
much more exhilarating. The betel is also
universally used in Ceylon, and the women are
more inveterate chewers than the men, as it is
said that a lady never appears abroad without
her little silver box of betel leaves and prepared
lime. The habit is represented as most repuls-
ive; and, as might be supposed, kissing is there
unknowna lover meeting his mistress applies
his nose to her cheek much after the Laputan
style of salutation. A traveler speaking of this
matter, says: So ntterly abhorent do I hold
this hetel-chewing propensity, that if Venus, the
laughter-loving goddess herself; decked with the
most bewitching of her wreathed smiles, were
to appear with betel-stained lips, I really doubt
whether the most impassioned of her admirers
would not experience some slight disgust. With
such examples before us, we are forced to the
conclusion that there is a leaven of evil in our
natures which constantly demands what appears
to be unnecessary for our health or existence;
and, even while we may ourselves he arrayed in
the panoply of the reformer, we often only dis-
pense with one bad habit to yield ourselves
to another. With the discovery of tobacco was
rapidly abandoned nearly every other substance
used for similar purposes; and the lightning-
speed with which it spread over the world is
one of the greatest miracles in the history of
commerce and the L coincident appetite of the
human family.
How .did the people of all time, up to 1500,
manage without the weed ? What was Cu-
sar s way when for the moment annoyed ?did
he bite his fingers, pace his room, or rap his
knuckles on his armor? Napoleon, under such
circumstances, t6ok snuff. It would seem that
the portrait of Diogenes, housed iii his tub, was
never complete, because he had not a rude
pipe sticking through the opening, while the
blue smoke curled about his independent head
Yet this might have spoiled his best accredited
saying, because his telling Alexander to get
out of his sunshine, is more sublime than say-
ing that he did not care a whiff of tobacco
smoke for any king in pagandom, as is daily
observed by kindred philosophers in these mod-
ern times.
Columbus and his companions were the first
Europeans who discovered tobacco, and their
surprise atwitnessing the Indians ejecting smoke
from their mouth and nostrils is warmly ex-
pressed. The first allusion to the subject is as
follows: Among other evil customs, they (the
Indians) persist in one which is very periiicious,
that of smoking, called by them tobacco, for the
purpose of producing insensibility. This they
effect by a certain herb, which, as far as I can
learn, is of a poisonous quality. The chiefs, or
principal men, have small hollow sticks, about
a span long, made in a forked manner, the two
ends of which are inserted into the nostrils, while
the other extremity is applied to the burning
leaves, which are rolled up in the manner of pas-
tiles. They inhale the smoke fill they fail down
in a state of insensibility, in which they remain
as if intoxicated. It has been generally be-
lieved, as by Cortez (who was led to examine
the quality of the weed from its universal use
among the tribes of Tabaca, in Yucatan), that
the name Tobacco originated there; but Hum-
boldt, with great apparent truth, asserts, that
the familiar word is used in the Haytien lan-
guage to designate the pipe, and that, by an
error of the Spaniards, they transferred the
name of the pipe to the plant itself.
Sacred as the Yucatan and other aboriginal
tribes considered tobacco, it attracted very lit-
tle attention from the immediate followers of THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 3
Columbus, who looked upon its use with the many looked upon as the most valuable product
same contempt that they did upon other of- reaped from the discovery of the New World.
fensive customs of the savages; and its first in- Finally, attracting the attention of the great
troductioa into Spain, by Hernandez Toledo, Catharine de Medicis, she ordered that, in honor
in 1559, was only as a curiosity; it was princi- of her sovereign self, the plant should be called
pally noticed on account of its supposed medic- Ilerba Regime; and thus endorsed, in the course
inal qualities, of a few years its consumption became univer
Gradually, as the Western World became sal among a nation acknowledged to be the
more and more known, it was found that the most polished in Europe. Meanwhile, a legate
North American Indians made the use of to- of the Pope, Santa Croce, who was distinguished
bacco not only a matter of social and personal for bringing a piece of the true cross from the
pleasure, but that every where the calumet was Holy Land, added to his celebrity by also intro-
the emblem of peace, and, of course, the mdi- ducing tobacco into Italy. It was not, however,
cation of their highest civilization, until after Sir Francis Drake returned from Vir-
Nearly half a century after the discovery of ginia, in 1583, that the custom of using tobacco
tobacco, Jean Nicot, Embassador of France to obtained any prominent place in England; but
Portugal, became acquainted in that country once introduced, it not only became popular,
with its uses, and was soon an enthusiastic ad- but there was created in its favor an enthusiasm
mirer of it. On his return home, he appears to unknown on the Continent. This, no doubt,
have taken a great deal of pride in urging its arose from the fact that it was from the begin-
virtues upon the fashionable kebitn6s of the court. ning patronized not only by persons distinguished
As he was the teacher of a foreign fashion, no for their position at court, but also for their wit
doubt he soon had many followers. Nicots dis- and great learning. Tradition says that, in the
ciples, in accordance with the spirit of the age, time of Queen Elizabeth, Sir Walter Raleigh
and no doubt desirous of justifying their own used to sit at his door with Sir Hugh Middleton
conduct, gave currency to the exaggerated sto- and smoke. The custom was thus sanctioned,
ries o9 the virtues of the weed, and it was by through the public manner in which it was ex
~nz mAT sriair. 4 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
hibited; and the passers-by inhaling the aro-
matic flavor, imitated the example.
Says a contemporary, speaking of its intro-
duction into England, Men used it every
where; some for wantonness, some for healths
sake; and with that insatiable greediness past
understanding, they sucked the reeking, stenchy
smoke thereof through an earthen pipe, which
they presently blew out again through their
nostrils; so that Englishmens bodies were so
delighted with the plant, that they seemed, as
it were, degenerated into barbarians.
The French embassador at Elizabeths court,
in 1600, only seventeen years after Sir Francis
Drake returned from America, and set the ex-
ample of using tobacco, writes, in his dispatches
to Paris, that the peers, while engaged in the
trials of Essex and Southampton, deliberated
upon their verdict with pipes in their mouths!
The enemies of Raleigh charged upon him that
he looked out of a ~:indow in the Tower and
smoked while Essex was going to execution; it
is certain that he went to his own, pipe in mouth.
How far this was a crime in Raleigh smokers
must determine; the times were troublous when
he gazed upon his fellow-courtier speeding to an
untimely death, and the pipe may have been his
only consolationall that was left to him in his
misfortunes. Raleigh, in the sad pageant be-
fore him, may have anticipated his own unhappy
fate; and he, no doubt, in the philosophy of his
thoughts, compared life to the fleeting cloud of
his own creation, and thus prepared himself for
his impending doom. To persons who habitu-
ally smoke, the soothing influence of the weed,
and the firmness it adds to the nerves when
presence of mind is needed, is proverbial. It
was only recently that we read of a street fight
out West, where a gentleman was unexpect-
edly fired upon by several persons, and being
without weapons, retreated a considerable dis-
tance, the bullets from revolvers and the shot
from double barls rattling past him; and,
says the editor, in the enthusiasm of his descrip-
tion, the gentleman was so cool throughout
the attempted assassination, that he never once
ceased to puff his cigar.
Popular as tobacco became, it was finally des-
tined to meet with powerful opposition; yet it
maintained itself in spite of the wrath of those
who could, with ease, destroy principalities and
powers. Governments made laws against its
use. The terrible Turk, Amurath the Fourth,
caused its votaries to be strangled. Ia Russia,
its admirers had a pipe-stem run through the
cartilage of their nose; and, for a second of-
fense, were torn to pieces by the knout. In
some parts of Switzerland the public authorities
placed smoking among the sins forbidden by the
Decalogue. The Popes of Rome issued their
bulls against the evil habit, Urban VII. abso-
lutely excommunicating all persons found in-
dulging in the practice. Queen Elizabeth, be-
fore her death, showed a desire to discounte-
nance tobacco; but it was not until her successor,
James, ascended the throne, that royal edicts
were, with any severity, brought to bear upon it
in England. This monarch seems to have in-
herited as great a dread of tobacco as he had for
a naked sword; and having disposed of his pa-
tronage, and become possessed of leisure, he
commenced a systematic attack upon the fas-
cinating plant, and, much to the edification of
his admiring subjects, and the amusement of
the antiquarians of the present day, he publish-
ed his celebrated Counterbiast of Tobacco, in
which he shows himself capable of calling hard
names, and very proficient in abuse. It is pos-
sible that this weak-minded and weak-headed
monarch essayed the use of the pipe, and, in
his vanity, supposed his royal prerogative would
have relieved him of the penalty of its first using;
for no one who has not felt the deadly sickness
could so vividly describe the sensation. Our
very head swims as we read it. The use of
tobacco, says his Majesty, is a custom loath-
some to the eyes, baleful to the nose, harmful
to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the
black reeking fumes thereof, nearest resembling
the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is
bottomless.
But King James, amidst his denunciations,
lets us into a bit of history which must surprise
every one who remembers how recently the cus-
tom of smoking was introduced, and how diffi-
cult it was to obtain the weed. He says: And
for the vanities committed in this filthy custom,
is it not great vanity and uselessness that at
table, a place of respect, of cleanness, and of
modesty, men should not be ashamed to sit
tossing of tobacco-pipes, and puffing of the smoke
one to another, making the filthy fumes thereof
to exhale across the dishes, and infect the air,
when very ofteu men that abhor it are at their
repast? But not only meal time, but no
other time, nor action, is exempted from the
public use of this uncivil trick. Is it not a
great vanity that a man can not welcome his
friend now, but straightway they must be in
hand with tobacco? No, it has become, in place
of a curse, a point of good-fellowship; and he
that will refuse to take a pipe with his fellows is
accounted peevish, and no good company; yea,
the mistress can not in more mannerly kind en-
tertain her servant than by giving him, out of
her fair hand, a pipe of tobacco. Much as we
are disposed to marvel at the universal use of
the plant in our day, we find, with all of our
abundance of means to gratify our appetites, no
such abuses as spoken of by the British Sol-
omon. Gentlemen never intrude their smoke
at tables where sit those who abhor it, nor would
it be an act of courtesy to expect a friend to
smoke who signified a distaste to do so; and,
above all, so far are the mistresses of our hearts
and homes from being expected to hand us the
pipe, that their presence for the time being com-
mands, as a mark of respect, that an end be put
to the enjoyment of the fragrant Havana.
As might be expected, a plant of such uni-
versal favor has called forth many treatises;
more than sixty-three in the English languageTHE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO.
have been given to the world, many of which Then the Dame Quickly of the establishment
possess rare literary excellence; some extrava- would appear with the said Canary, perhaps
gantly extol its virtues, while others (which, imported in one of Raleighs own ships, while the
by the way, are far the greater portion) as vio- philosophical and poetical navigator detailed to
lently de~claim against and deprecate its use. the members of the club the wonders he had
In addition to these, there have appeared many witnessed in his many voyages, the strange
papers in the different languages of Europe. sights he had encountered on the plantations of
The titles of some of the fulminations that fol- Virginia, and the probabilities of his realizing
lowed the Counterblast afford us a very his day-dreams offinding ElDorado. Meanwhile
good idea of their merits. Among the many, pipes would be introduced, and after all were
we have: A chew of Tobacco for Gentlemen in well filled and lighted, the prejudice of the king
livery ; also quite an extensive pamphlet en- againsttheuse ofthe weedwonldhe discussed, the
titled Tobacco battered, and the Pipes shattered necessity of appearing to fall in with the humor
(about their ears that idolize so base and barbarous of the court commended, when old Ben Jonson
a weed; or at leastwise overlove so loathsome a laurmite and office-holder as he waswould
vanitie), by a volley of holy shot thundered from become excited, and, curling an extra whiff of
Mount Helicon. A devotee gives the world A smoke around his well-bronzed face, exclaim,
right pleasant and veritable discourse, touching Tobacco, I do assert, and ~vill affirm it before
divers choice, rare, and curious particulars concern- any prince in Europe, to be the most sovereign
my the historie of the Holy Herb. and precious weed that ever the earth tendered
Charles the Second wrote to the University to the use of man
of Cambridge, forbidding its members to wear Among the amusing epigrams that have been
periwigs or smoke tobacco; yet the members preserved, written in praise of tobacco, the fol-
of that ancient seat of learning have continued, lowing is perhaps one of the very best:
even unto this day, to render their heads hide- Much meat doth gluttony procure
ous by the masquerade of false hair, and to make To feed men fat as swine,
themselves comfortable by the free use of the But hes a frugal man indeed
proscribed plant. Under the reign of Louis the That on a leaf can dine.
He needs no napkin for his hands,
Fourteenth, the wish of the monarch was the ISis fingers~ ends to wipe,
law of the landthe breath and vitality of the That hath his kitchen in a box,
courtiers. Catching his cue from the Vatican, ISis roast meat in apipe.
Louis set his face against the use of snufl and Writers have not been wanting, who have
desired Fagon, the physician of the court, to de- spent much time and ingenuity in the endeavor
liver a philippic against its use. The learned to prove that tobacco was centuries ago known
doctor proceeded with due solemnity with his to the Eastern nations; but nothing to make
task, but astonished the multitude, amidst one of us give credence to such an idea has ever been
hi5 grandest flights of eloquence, by producing eliminated. The use of pungent herbs in the
his box and taking a lusty pinch; and then, cv- form of snuff; however, is a very ancient ens-
idently unconscious of his inconsistency, he tom; for ever since the time of Hippocrates
resumed the thread of his denunciations with sneezing powders, or sternutatories, are said to
increased vigor, have been in vogue. It has been supposed that
Sir Walter Raleigh, before he became in- Shakspeare refers to this custom in his play of
volved in political troubles, instituted stated Henry the Fourth, when, in describinnafopof
meetings of the wits of his day, who met at the those early days, he says
Mermaid, then a popular tavern in London. lie was perfumed like a milliner,
Around this social board assembled more genius And twixt his finger and thumb he held
and talent than the world ever witnessed before, A ponucet box, which ever and anon
or will probably see again. Among the con- He gave his nose.
stant attendants were Selden, Beaumont, Fletch- The Chinese, according to their accustomed
er, Ben Jonson, and Shakspeare. If the social vanity, pretend to have been acquainted many
and convivial conversation of these wonderful ages with tobacco. It is presumable that they
men could have been preserved as uttered, while first received the plantfrom India (to which coun-
thus unrestrainedly indulging in the f~lings of try it was conveyed by the Portuguese), as no al-
friendship and the flow of wit, what book, unin- lusions to it are found in any authentic Oriental
spired, that we now possess, would equal in in- works written previous to the time of this intro-
terest the records of this? Jonson was eminent- duction. The reader will also remember that
ly a free liver, and no doubt the noisy one of the the stories of the Arabian Nights, although illus-
circle. There was a roystering character about tinting the social habits and customs of a people
old Ben that makes a fine contrast to the conduct now proverbially fond of tobacco, make not a
of his companions. We can imagine him, with single allusion to the custom of smoking. The
Shakspeare on one side and Raleigh on the Turks must have received the commodity from
other, giving forth one of his own songs, and Europe about the same time that Persia received
putting particular emphasis upon the lines: it from the East. Sandysan Oriental traveler,
But that which most doth take my purse and me, who was in Constantinople in 1610says, that
Is a fins cup of rich Canary wine, the Turks delight in tobacco; which they take
Which is the Mermaids now, hut shall be mine. through reeds, that have joined unto them great6 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
heads of wood to contain it, and learned the
custom from the English. An enthnsiastic
son of the Emerald Isle hecame inspired with
the idea of appropriating to his countrymen the
honor of using the weed as early as the tenth
century, and attempted to prove the fact hy the
alleged discovery of some antique pipes, which,
it is contended, once helonged to the Danes.
The whole story can he found in the Antho-
logia Hihernica ; hut as the author has ne-
glected to show that a hollow tuhe could not
he used to hum any thing else than tohacco, we
are, of course, left in douht, and must consider
the whole theory as mere smoke.
The advocates of the use of the narcotic have
the authority of great names. Milton solaced
himself, upon going to hed, with a single pipe
and a glass of watera hahit which displays
his temperance and neatness. The gentle Sir
Isaac Newton, in his palmiest days, was urged
by his friends to choose a wife; hut he made
his intended spouse mortally offended hy tak-
ing her hand and using the tapering fore-
finger to clear out his pipe. Old Isaac Wal-
ton was as fond of tobacco as he was of
angling. The members of the famous Kit-
kat club became celebrated for their consump-
tion of the Virginian weed. Dr. Willis, in
his accoui~ of the great plague of London, says,
that during the whole sickness it was ob-
served that no tobacconists house was ever
known to have been infected, or indeed those
who smoked. The immortal Locke writes:
Bread or tohacco may he neglected; hut rea-
son at first recommends their trial, and custom
makes them pleasant. Burton, author of the
Anatomie of Melanchollie, pronounces the
weed a sovereign remedy to all diseases;
virtuous herh, if it be well qualified, opportune-
ly taken, and medicinally used.
Tobacco grows well in almost every part of the
world; and, so far from heing a tropical plant,
aEvEnIES OF TIlE cleAn. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 7
its best qualities are developed in temperate
climates. Europeaa governments have found
it profitable, iu most cases, to prohibit its culti-
vation in their dominions except ia limited
quantities, preferring to receive it from abroad,
and make it a source of revenue. It is raised
in most of the southern and western parts of
Russia. In Holland and Belgium it is only
l)roduced for the leaves used as the coverings
of cigars. In Prussia, Austria, and France its
cultivation is almost prohibited. Spain gets
her supply from Cuba and Brazil. In England
no tobacco is now allowed to be grown. Sir
Walter Raleigh introduced it into Ireland along
with the potatoe, and produced both, side by
side, upon his estate at Gongall. In Mexico it
is a government monopoly, and her citizens are
not allowed even to import it without incurring
heavy penalties. It has been successfully cul-
tivated in every State of our Union; but with
Virginia is it more particularly associated in
historic interest; for her name, in early times,
was synonymous with the plant itself.
Previous to 1616 there seems to have been no
systematic cultivation of tobacco in that State~
but in that year Sir Francis Dale commenced
planting on an extensive scale, and only seven
years afterward a large quantity was exported to
the mother country. In 1639, the Grand Assem-
bly, in consideration of the excessive quantity
of late years planted in the colony, passed an
act that all tobacco raised in the present and
two succeeding years be absolutely destroyed
and burned, excepting and reserving so much,
in equal proportion to each planter, as shall
make, on the whole, the just quantity of one
hundred and twenty thousand pounds, stripped
and smoothed. So prominent is the place that
tobacco occupies in the early records of the
middle Southern States, that its cultivation and
commercial associations may be said to form
the basis of their history. It was the direct
source of their wealth, and became for a while
the representative of gold and silver; the stand-
ard value of other merchantable products; and
this tradition was further preserved by the
stamping of a tobacco-leaf upon the old conti-
nental money used in the Revolution.
The wives of a number of the first colonists
of Virginia, it will be remembered, were ex-
ported from England at the price of one hun-
dred pounds of tobacco each; and as the Gov-
ernors of the Colony selected young women
who were well recommended for their vir-
tues, education, and demeanor, the demand in-
creased, and higher prices still were gladly given
for such agreeable help mates. Among other
things illustrative of the times, the ministers
salary was paid in tobacco, and the claim had
priority over all other debts; and whoever was
absent from church without a valid excuse was
fined a pound thereof; and if absent a m~ith,
fifty pounds; and for abusing the minister the
penalty was a forfeiture of the whole crop!
There are more than forty known varieties
of tobacco; but the differences are mainly the
result of climate and the mode of culture. The
plant is an annual, and may be generally de-
scribed as having a strong, erect stem, with
luxuriantly flowing foliage. The leaves are of
a rich green, and grow alternately on the stalk,
at intervals of two or three inches; they are
oblong and spear-shaped; those near the ground
obtain the length of twenty inches, and they
gracefully decrease in size to the top of the
plant. The flowers are externally yellow, and
red within, and crown the pyramidal foliage
in rich clusters, which are succeeded by kidney-
shaped capsules of a rich brown color, each one
of which contains ten hundred most minute but
perfect seedsthe united number of each plant
averaging one hundred and fifty thousand!
Of all known vegetable productions, says
an enthusiastic writer, tobacco is constituted
and composed of the richest, strongest, most de-
licious, and delightful ingredients. The alco-
hol or spirit, the oil and opium, the sugar or
saccharine matter, the mucilaginous wax or
gums, the acids and nitre, with many other of
the volatile salts, all harmoniously combined,
constitute this the richest and most delicious
compound ever engendered and generated in
any one plant.
In the cultivation of tobacco the very best
lands are required. Every one has noticed how
large a proportion of a cigar is incombustible, at
least one fourth or fifth of the whole weight of
the dried leaf. Now, these ashes, so carelessly
thrown away, are composed of the most im-
portant mineral matters necessary for vegeta-
tion; and their vast quantity, when considered
relatively to the whole crop, exposes the reason
TOaACCO PLANT. 8 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
why, of all vegetable productions, tobacco is
most exhausting to the soil. To facilitate tbe
advancement of tbe crop, the planter, in early
spring, prepares a hot-bed for plants, and
thus anticipates the lagging season. The ground
iu which they are to be perfected is carefully
plowed, pulverized, and drained. This having
been done, parallel furrows with a small seed-
ing plow, are run two and a half feet apart,
then crossed again at right angles, which di-
vides the ground into exact squares. The la-
borers then commence with the hoes, and draw
the earth in each square into a hill smoothed
on the top, and patted by one blow of the hoe.
Upon the first fine rain the plants are removed
from the seed-beds, and are delicately placed in
each hill. If the work has been properly per-
formed, replanting is not necessary, and the
crop is in. Now commences the constant la-
hor of cultivation. Every few days the weeds
have to be cleared away and the soil broken np.
As the young plant gains strength, plows are
substituted in place of the hoe, and the grass
growing near the roots of the plant is pulled out
by the hand. Finally, the plants becoming too
large to admit of horses between the rows, the
hoes are resumed until the work is complete.
The moment the blossom appears, after a few
of the finest plants are selected for seed, the
remainder are topped. From this time until
the crop is safely housed, it is a source of con-
stant anxiety to the planter. He is fearful of
storms, of frost, of wormshis worst enemy;
then the suckers are to be pulled oW and the
ground leaves are to be saved.
The tobacco-worm, so voracious in its appe-
tite, disgusting in its appearance, and so re-
markable as being the only living creature, ex-
cept man, that habitually eats tobacco, grows to
the length of three inches and upward, has a
black head, is of a greenish color, marked with
rings. These destructive creatures come in what
the planters term gluts. The first one takes
place when the plant is half grown, the second
when it is ready for cutting. If they were not
killed as fast as they appear, they would soon
destroy the crop. Turkeys are called in to aid
the negroes in the extermination, and their in-
TOBACCO PLABTATiON. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 9
dustry and perseverance are quite animating.
They eat thousands, but seem to enjoy the sport
of killing for the amusement alone. Upon the
appearance of the second glut, the plant is
too high to allow the enemy to come within
reach of even the tallest gobblers; the labor,
therefore, devolves exclusively upon the gang,
the members of which are constantly on the
watch, destroying the eggs and the just-devel-
oped insect. No other business, for the time,
is attended to, and the destroyer is generally
conquered; and when the worm disappears the
second time they are no longer a source of
trouble to the growing crop.
When the plant is thoroughly ripe, and be-
gins to yellow, the stalk is cut off close to the
ground, and taken to the dryin,,-houses or sheds
and hung up. Once dry and well cured,
the stem of the leaf being free from sap, it is
stripped from the stalk and tied in bundles of a
quarter of a pound weight. The leaves, as may
be supposed, present different degrees of excel-
lence, and they are duly assorted and known as
yellow, bright, dull, etc. After a vari-
ety of processes which they go through to be
brought to their most perfect form, which re-
quire constant attention from the producer, the
staple is finally prepared for market, and then
packed in the hogsheads that are so familiar
through the world.
It has been calculated, with great apparent
truth, that about one-tenth of the whole popu-
lation of the United States is occupied in the
cultivation and manufacture of tobacco. The
amount of the present production is about two
hundred millions of poundstwenty millions
less than it was ten years ago. Meanwhile, the
home consumption has increased, not only in
proportion to the population, but also in .the
ratio per individual! The States engaged most
largely in the staple at present, are Virginia,
Kentucky, Tennessee, Maryland, North Caro-
lina, and Ohio. Singular as it may seem, Con-
necticut raises considerable tobacco, and much
of it is of the very best quality known to the
trale.
It is a curious fact in its history, that the ex-
ports from this country have varied but very
little in the last fifty years; in 1790 our country,
in round numbers, sent abroad one hundred and
eighteen thousand hogsheads, in 1840 one hun-
dred and nineteen thousand. This is one of the
most curious facts developed in statistics, and
may probably be directly traced to the fact that
the population and wealth of European countries
have not increased, and that the duties levied
upon its introduction are as high as can pos-
sibly be borne.
No article of commerce pays a duty so enor-
mous, compared with its home price, as Amer-
ican tobacco. From it is derived an important
part of the revenue of almost every European
Governmen4. In Great Britain, the import duty
is three shillings sterling (seventy-five cents) per
poundabout twelve hundred per cent. upon
the original costand two dollars per pound on
manufactured tobacco, thus for what her people
give us less than two millions of dollars, they pay
to their own Government, for the privilege of
using it, twenty-two millions of dollars, which
is twice the sum realized by the American pro-
ducer for all the tobacco exported to every
part of the world! As might be supposed, the
most stringent laws govern its introduction into
that country, and a large fleet of ships and a
heavy marine are supported to detect smugglers
who alone traffic in this article. It is therefore
not surprising that among all the wonders of
London, and all the creations of that great
Babylon dedicated to commerce, few are so re-
markable as the government warehouses used
for bonding or storing tobacco. Their interiors
present such vast areas of ground that they be-
come bewildering to the eye, and they never
had any rivals in size until the erection of the
Crystal Palace. Almost as far as the eye can
reach are alleys of hogsheads, whose number is
immense. In all convenient places are large
scales forweighing, togetherwith otherapparatus
cofinected with the operation of examining the
staple. To accomplish this purpose, a hogshead
having been selected, the bead is knocked out,
some of the staves loosened, and, by a dexterous
movement, the wooden covering is taken com-
pletely oW so that the contents remain standing
uprighta dense, impenetrable mass of tobacco
leaves. Supposing that, upon examination, tbe
inspectors find that the exterior, through the
action of sea-water, bad packing, or any other
cause, has become damaged, they call in labor-
ers, who chop the defective parts away. This
accomplished, the remainder is weighed, in or-
der that the duty accruing to the Government
may be determined upon; the hogshead is re-
placed, and the purged contents are ready for
sale in the market, eventually to appear in the
form of cigars or snuff.
The damaged tobacco, which accumulates
in vast quantities, and would be of immense
value if thrown into the market, is all burned up
within the walls of the warehouses, lest its sale
should diminish the revenue of the kingdom.
The kiln in which the destruction takes place is
called the Queens tobacco-pipe. As the
smoke might be deleterious, the stem of the
vast pipe is carried to an immense height. The
ashes that remain after the conflagration are
sold to enrich the garden beds in the vicinity
of all the great ports.
The adulteration of tobacco would form a
novel history of itself. We know but compara-
tively little of the extent of this fraud in the
United States, the staple being too abundant to
make it an object of great importance. In En-
gland the artificial creations of tobacco are car-
ried on with wonderful ingenuity and success.
It is the exception to the rule to find a genuine
article exposed in the shops of London. An
extensive trader was on one occasion arrested
upon the charge that he mingled foreign sub-
stances with his tobacco; but on the trial he
was discharged, because he demonstrated that 10 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
he did not adulterate tobacco, having never used
the article at all in his manufacture. By many
the delicate yellowish-brown spots that are pe-
culiar to some tobacco leaves are considered a
sign of superior quality; this idea very gener-
ally prevails, and it has been asserted that they
never show themselves upon an inferior staple.
A London dealer, before he was found out,
amassed a great fortune, by sprinkling his cigars
with a distemper that closely imitated these ad-
mired freckles. Another merchant offered a
large reward to a celebrated chemist, if he
would produce an artificial but permanent imi-
tation. Without experiment, the task appeared
easy; but the most protracted exertions to ac-
complish it resulted in failure.
The most common way of using tobacco is in
the form of smoke, to accomplish which many
expedients have been resorted to. A tribe of
Africans, known as the Bechuanas, have a way
very characteristic of their general intelligence.
They take a limber twig, and bending it in the
form of a semicircle, bury it in the mud, after
which, having pounded down the earth to stif-
ficient hardness, they pull out the twig, and thus
est mounds in the Western valleys have been
found the most beautifully sculptured pipes, gen-
erally of porphyry, and in the form of the hu-
man head, or of some bird or beast. Specimens
produced by the more modern races of Indians
are easily distinguished by the softer materials
of which they are made, and they have also less
delicacy and beauty of design.
The tubes of these pipes were of hollow wood,
from twenty inches to three feet in length, and
were tastefully ornamented with beads and the
plumage of birds, and surpassed in beauty and
picturesque effect all modern pipes except the
hookah of the East.
From the appearance of these relics it is in-
ferable that, among the mound builders as
among all the tribes of North America, tobacco
was known and used. With the whole race,
and from the earliest times, the pipe was ever
leave a hole that answers the purpose of a pipe-
stem; a little tobacco is then set on fire at one
end of this underground tube, and the savage,
applying his mouth to the other, drinks up the
smoke to his entire satisfaction. The Kirgeezes
of the same continent, mix a little tobacco with
other pungent herbs, and digging a large hole
in the ground, put them in it and set them on
fire. The savages then lie around the sweet in-
cense, head to head, and thus inhale the vapor.
A tribe of Indians originally inhabited Panama
whose chiefs and great men had their servants
blow tobacco smoke in their faces, and indulged
in the luxury in no other way. The Hawalians
habitually swallow the smoke, and a few whiffs
are sufficient to cause complete inebriation.
This is an economical mode; for a single pipe,
before it is exhausted, by being passed from
mouth to mouth in quick succession, will serve
to gratify a number of people.
The North American Indians exhausted their
highest skill on the production of the pipe; and
of all their works that remain to us, none dis-
play an amount of labor and beauty compara-
ble with this domestic ornament. In the old-
the grandest implement of diplomacy. In mak-
ing war or concluding peace it performed an im-
portant part; their deliberations, public as well
as private, had to be smoked, and no treaty
was duly signalized without the handing round
of the calumet. The transfer of the pipe from
the lips of one person to another was a token
of friendship, a gage of honor among the chi.
valrous sons of the forest that was never dis-
honored; it was as sacred as is taking salt with
the children of the desert. In all religious cer-
emonies it was produced with due solemnity, and
its fragrant contents were cast toward heaven
as grateful incense to the Great Spirit.
It is said that a monk, by the name of Ro-
man Pine, who accompanied Columbus in his
second voyage to America, purchased one of
these novel toys from an Indian of San Do-
mingo, and learned to use it. Returning to
laniAx rn?E-13owL5. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 11
Spain he induced many persons to manufacture
imitations of the aboriginal pipe, and follow his
example in smoking. The pipe was first made,
however, in England, by one Ralph Lane, who
was a follower of Sir Francis Drake; but the
fashion of using it was not established until
Raleigh set the example. The Queen, who
was giddy-minded and fond of novelty, allowed
Raleigh to smoke in her presence, and even
~vent so far as to use a walnut shell and straw
in taking an occasional puff herself. It was in
these halcyon days of Raleighs history that he
is said to have laid a wager with her Majesty,
that he would give the exact weight of all the
smoke that came from her pipe. This he did
by first weighing the tobacco and afterward the
ashes, and deciding that the difference between
the two was the weight of the smoke. The
Queen, upon paying the wager, very charac-
teristically remarked, that although she had
known many laborers who had turned gold into
smoke; he was the first she had found who could
turn smoke into gold.
For a long time the form of the Indian pipe
carried to Europe was imitated, hut gradually
inventors sprang up who gave new shapes and
finally added many improvements. The Per-
sinus, who seem to have been wanting in their
true national characteristics until the introduc-
tion of tobacco, found the aboriginal manner of
using it too gross for their enervated constitu-
tions, and to supply their wants, produced what
is now every where known as the Oriental
Hookah. In this magnificent instrument the
smoke is sublimated and cooled by passing
through water. Thus relieved of every foreign
substance, the Persian drinks it in as the breath
of heaven. In many parts of the East it is the
mark of signal hospitality to place the hookab
in the centre of the apartment, and pass the
long flexible tube from guest to guest, each one
taking a whiff in turn. Som~times the liquid
contained in the bowl is rose water; in such
case, the smoke not only loses its solid particles
but also acquires additional fragrance. The
ornamentation, in diamonds and other precious
stones, on some of the hookahs belonging to
princes, exceeds belief; in many instances even
surpassing all the other crown jewels in value.
The Turkish Tehihouk holds a middle place
between the hookah and meersehaum. Their
tubes are generally from five to eight feet long,
and are of cherry or jasmine wood. The bowls
are made of earth found near Thebes, and are
of handsome design and richly gilt. The mouth-
piece is generally of amber; and the tubes are
often adorned with precious stones. Among all
the higher classes of Oriental life great neatness
characterizes the use of tobacco.
The Germans have made the form of the pipe
a subject of immense study, and the greatest
possible variety is to be found among that sturdy
people. The commonest, the most complicated,
aud the most philosophical consists of four
piecesthe Ko~f to hold the weed; the Abqns
that serves to catch the pernicious oil which
rIrEs OF ALL NATLOaS.
7- 12 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
would otherwise injure the smoke; the RoAr
or stem; and the Mendstuck, which is applied
to the mouth. This truly scientific instrument
was invented hy an Austrian physician more
than one hundred and fifty years ago, and has
ever maintained its popularity.
The term Meerschaum, which is applied so
generally to a particular class of pipes, is prop-
erly the name of the substance from which they
are made. The Turks apply the name keff-kil
(foam-earth) to the clay; while the same sub-
stance, when formed into pipe-bowls, ohtains the
name of meerschaum in Germany, and ~cmae de
mer in France, hoth of which signify sea froth.
It was for a long time generally supposed that
the suhstance was washed up hy the sea; hut it
appears that the name originated in the fact that
the clay, when dry, will float on the surface of
water, and then appears like white foamy hub-
bIes. The meerschanm, so far from being the
child of the waves, is taken from heds in the
solid earth. In its primitive state it is white
and soft, and can he cut like cheese. It is
found abundantly in Turkey, Russia, Hungary,
and in Asia Minor. Upon the manufacture of
the meerschaum great labor is expended, and
they are costly, not only on account of heing
frequently ornamented with silver and gold, hut
also because great numhers are destroyed by
some hidden imperfection in the material.
These celebrated howls, when new, resemhle
ivory; in their using they gradually change into
a variety of mellow browns, or tortoise-shell
hues, arising from the essential oil of the tobacco
being liberated in the process of burning. In
fact, this coloring of the meerschaum is consider-
ed quite an art among the millions who devote
their time to such matters; and the approved
style, though possessing no intrinsic merit, is as
much desired to he gratified as other demands
made hy the relentless spirit of fashion.
Every one is familiar with the Holland pipe,
so perfectly identified with the old Knicker-
bockers. It is the cheapest and best pipe,
according to our notions, ever used. These
are made of fine clay,
~ ~ I and have always been
preferred to any other
ofsimilarmaterialthe
world over. Gouda,
the seat of their man-
ufacture, is one of the
handsomest towns in
the Netherlands, and
soon after the intro-
duction of tobacco
into Europe its in-
habitants commenced
making these pipes,
and eventually cre-
ated a trade that, in
1720, demanded six-
ty millions of pipes,
and employed many
thousand operatives.
Debreezin, in Hun-
gary, has long been famous for its manufac-
ture of pipes from red clay, their sale being
principally confined to the Danube. Ulm,
in Bavaria, is noted for its wooden bowls; and
the Thuriugian forests of Middle Germany for
their porcelain pipes, which are pressed into
every possihie shape, and ornamented with every
known color. In England the pipe-makers are
found in Purbeck, in IDorsetshire, where is to he
found a fine-grained white plastic clay, eminent-
ly suited to the purpose. As the facilities of
obtaining tobacco have increased, cigars have
made great innovations upon the use of pipes,
and their production of late years has rapidly
decreased. We should perhaps be neglectful if
we did not speak of the true American pipe, so
much used in the West, and immortalized
from its being the favorite of General Jackson,
while occupying the White House. It con-
sists of a piece of dried sweet corn cob, with the
pith removed, to form the bowl; the stem, a
joint of the cane, or reed. This rural pipe is
undoubtedly the most agreeable of all others,
for a new one is used at every sitting, and the
coh, from its dryness and sponginess, draws out,
in the process of combustion, all the pernicious
oil of the tobacco, and the pith actually in-
creases the fragrance of the tobacco itself.
Snuff-taking originated with the people of
France, and was the most fashionable folly of
the court of Louis the Grand. Under Queen
Anne it arrived at its height in England; and
the Spectator utters its best wit to throw rid-
icule upon the custom. When snuff-taking was
at its height in France, to refuse a pinch was
considered an affront; hence many carried
boxes for fashions sake. A gentleman of this
kind, upon going into a puhlic place, was no-
ticed for his want of sincerity, and upon reach-
ing home he found that his costly snuff-box had
disappeared, and the following note in its place:
As you made no real use of your treasure, it
has been appropriated by one who is honest in
his admiration I The melancholy death of
Sautenil, at the time of its occurrence, caused
THE ~OOKAH. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 13
universal sorrow. This celebrated poet, with a offered as a grateful memorial from a British
number of his companions, were dining at the soldier for the kind treatment he had received
Prince of Condds table, whea all became heated while he was the Generals prisoner. The old
with wine. One of the party, by way of a prac- campaigner stated that he had given up the
tical joke, unperceived, dropped a pinch of snuff business of arms, and was then profitably em-
into Sautenils glass. A few moments after he ployed in the business of making boxes to carry
had taken the powder he was seized with sick- snuff. The tobacco-box of Sir Walter Raleigh
ness, and expired at the end of two days, after is still in existence, and is of no ordinary di-
exhibiting unparalleled suffering. mensions, being seven inches in diameter and
The time consumed by a ceremonious snuff- thirteen in height. More than two centuries
taker varies from one-tenth to a quarter of his ago, a citizen of Westminster, England, left a
whole existence. We knew one of those happy tobacco-box of little value to the Post Over-
individuals, who occupied five minutes and seers Society, on condition that every senior
twenty seconds in going through the entire officer in succession should produce it at all
operation. This included the taking out of the parochial entertainments, and upon retiring
box, the tapping on one side, the opening, the from office should add some embellishment to
handing around, the pinch seized and placed, it or be subjected to a heavy fine. The conse-
the box returned, the handkerchief produced, quence has been that, in the course of two cen-
flourished, and then returned to the pocket. An turies, the box has increased ten times its di-
ingenious American, residing in Paris, while mensions, being encompassed in numerous sil-
dining at his hotel, looked out of the window, ver cases, on which are engraven curious em-
and observed a mason employed at work on an blematic devices; making the whole thing per-
opposite building. Noticing that the man was feetly unique.
in the act of taking a pinch of snuW he promptly In this connection it is perhaps proper to no-
bet that he would drink a bottle of Champagne tice a most scandalous report, circulated by some
before the mason was through the ceremony. It ill-natured persons to the prejudice of the ladies,
is hardly necessary to say that he won the wa- the point of which is, that they use snuff as a
ger, and had time to spare. dentifrice. To imagine that a device so shallow
The Earl of Stanhope made the following should be resorted to for the purpose of con-
curious calculation. He said that every invet- cealing the use of tobacco in its worst form,
crate and incurable snuff-taker, at a moderate seems impossible; yet honest men, have been
computation, takes one pinch every ten minutes. led astray; for we find this mutilated paragraph
Every pinch, with the agreeable concomitants, going the rounds of our most respectable jour-
and other incidental circumstances, consumes a nals: Of all the detestable, obnoxious, offens-
minute and a half. Deducting a minute and ive, unnecessary, and abominable imitations
a half out of every ten, and allowing sixteen which dear woman is guilty of inheriting from
hours to every snuff-takers day, it amounts to fallen, depraved, corrupt, and wicked man, that
two hours and twenty-four minutes out of every of snuff-dipping stands pre-eminent. How the
day, or one day out of ten, and thirty-six and a second edition of angelsthe ne plus ultra of
half days in a yearmore than one-twelfth of heavens best workmanshipthe idol of man,
a persons whole life, the diamond of songthe gem of prose, and the
Ever since snuff became a fashion, the box crowning glory of humanity, can concentrate a
used to hold it has been made by Royalty the table spoonful of pulverized poison, that would
evidence of esteem. If a crowned head desires kill a rattlesnake, and prove certain death to cv-
to acknowledge an obligation to an individual, cry living creature except the tobacco-worm, is
it is generally done by the presentation of a to us totally at variance with all philosophy, rca-
gold snuff-box set with diamonds. No Govern- son, scripture, taste, and refinement, and utterly
ment has been more liberal with such presents incomprehensible. We wish it were a dream
than that of Great Britain. Following the bat- we wish it were a romancewe wish it were not
tle of Waterloo, the rewards bestowed upon so; but sad reality presents the picture of an
d/~lomats and soldiers engaged in the events angel of beauty, with a heavenly smile, a rosy
consummated on that field of blood, the House cheek, the eye of a gazelle, standing erect in all
of Commons, in one year, appropriated twenty- her majesty, dazzling in her robes of silk and
two thousand five hundred pounds for snuff- precious stones, her form reflected in a costly
boxes alone, intended for complimentary pres- mirror, holding between her delicate fingers a
eats. Napoleon very characteristically com- rattan stick feathered at the end which is con-
plained of the time wasted in opening them, so stantly introduced into a box of snuff and
he placed his snuW without covering, in his The remainder is torn off, and the extract must
vest-pocket. Frederick the Great, who was an therefore ever present an imperfect, but still a
inordinate snuff-taker, had his Westentasche vivid, idea of what malice will do when it at-
lined with tin, and he strewed the powder over tempts to malign the sex.
his person and face with a most profuse hand. The Duk~ of Marlborough was the first dis-
While General Jackson was President, he re- tinguished man who rendered chewing tobacco
ceived from England the present of a porcelain famousthe next celebrity of historic interest
box, of which he seemed to be very proud. In- was a goat belonging to the crew of Decaturs
side of the toy was a paper, stating that it was flag-ship. This animal took his quid as regu 14 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
larly as any of the old salts, and, being pos-
sessed of a long gray beard, his cud-chewing
moved it from side to side, and caused constant
amusement among all who witnessed it. One
of our later Presidents made the plug some-
what conspicuous by sitting in his audience-room
with it in his hand, and, while engaged in con-
versation, nervously tearing off bits of the com-
pressed leaves and placing them in his mouth.
Eating tobacco is essentially an American cus-
tom, and was no doubt derived from the ex-
ample of the worm that lives upon the growing
plant. It is particularly a favorite habit with
leading politicians, and seems to be a vital qual-
ification for a foreign minister.
Dealers in tobacco in early times were dis-
tinguished for their ingenious devices to attract
custom. Not only costly divans were invented
by them, but also signs of significancy were orig-
inated, many of which retain their popularity
nato this day. Hone mentions a man residing
on Tower Hill, London, Parr byname, who great-
ly increased his fortune by placing conspicuously
over his door the following announcement: The
best tobacco by Parr. The popular emblem is
what is supposed to represent an Indian. The
original one was no doubt carved out of wood,
in accordance with the imagination of some
cockney, and, by a singular love which the
human mind has for precedents, all tobacco-
shop Indians are made after the same unnatural
pattern, whether carved in this country or in
Europe. A Scotchman, in his kilts and top-
heavy with ostrich-feathers, and holding a rams-
horn snuff-box, is sometimes adopted. A Turk,
in flowing robes, black beard, green mustache,
and goggle-eyes, has his admirers. We once
saw one of these singular, but, we dare say, very
correct specimens of Oriental life, under which
was printed: Let the infidel work his will, Ill
trust in my pipe. The most touching appeal
ever made, however, was by a dealer in Vienna,
who established his business by suspending from
his shop ceiling a huge bowl, with a score of
long tubes attached, in which ten pounds of to-
bacco were fired at once. One crowd followed
another in the enjoyment of this leviathan pipe;
the reputation of its originator became estab-
lished, and, as a consequence, his fortune was
made.
The feelings that overwhelm a person long
addicted to the use of tobacco when deprived of
it, are more painful than its positive effects when
first taken into the system. We have known
soldiers punished for disobedience, who would
hold out against the severest discipline, and
never succumb until deprived of their tobacco.
In a memorable mutiny on board of one of our
MEXIcAN l3AacoaY. THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 15
national vessels, the misguided leader, while
under sentence of death, was bold and defiant
until his favorite weed was taken from him; he
then became despondent, and his nervous sys-
tem gave waythe same effect would have fol-
lowed had he been innocent of all misdeedshe
was sinking under the want of a stimulant long
indulged in, and not from the remorse that is
supposed to follow crime. It is common for
persons suddenly immured in prison to stipu-
late for their tobacco, but never for their food.
An anecdote is related of a poor German, who
attracted attention by continually walking to
and fro between a bakers shop and a tobacco
store, holding a few pence in his hand. He
finally solved the mystery of his movements hy
exclaiming: I would like to have some bread,
but I ~vonld not miss it after all as much as I
would my tobacco.
We once had two acquaintances who were
remarkable for their abuse of the weed. To
such an extent did they use it, that their consti-
tutions were seriously impaired, and they de-
termined to abandon the habit, to escape from
a premature grave. It so happened that they
made their pledges of abstinence at night, and
the following morning they were some miles in
the country on a fishing excursion. After the
excitement of arranging their tackle and throw-
ing their hooks into the water had subsided,
there came the qniet anticipatory of a bite.
Presently, said one of the gentlemen, who
afterward related the incident, the log on which
I sat commenced whirling round, the just rising
sun grew dark in the heavens, and all nature
dissolved in a death-like tremor, that seemed to
divide my soul from my body, and I fell head-
long into the lake. Fortunately the cold bath
bronght me to consciousness, and, reaching the
shore, I found my friend pale and insensible on
the grass. Rousing him from his stupor, we
jumped into our buggy, leaving our rods, reels,
and lunch disregarded on the ground, and gal-
loping like mad down the road, never stopped
until we reached a country store, and seized, with
the avidity of starving men, upon some tobacco,
but it was a long time before our systems were
restored to quietness, and we were capable of
coherently explaining the causes of our, for the
time-being, apparently insane conduct.
Dr. Nott, in his deed of trust, conveying the
enormous sum of money made over by him for
the endowment of Union College, makes it a
condition that every professor is to avoid the
use of tobacco in any of its forms; yet in all
future time this clause will probably be a tale
that is told, and the drowsy professor, who makes
his living through the industry and thrift of Dr.
Nott, will, amidst the clouds of smoke of his
well-filled pipe, wonder why such an imprac-
ticable matter was introduced into the last will
and testament of a great and good man. We
believe this, because the most despotic laws, the
most signal punishmentseven the dictates of
the tyrant fashion itselfhave never been able
to arrest the habit of using tobacco in those who
bad formed it. Nothing will do this but that
high moral courage which says, If meat make
my brother to offend, I will eat no more flesh
while the world standeth. Rare examples of
such resolutions are recorded, but they indicate
a bravery that the soldier who faces the can-
non s mouth can not imagine, and only the soul
capable of being a martyr can illustrate.
Some persons are so constituted that their
systems can never overcome a nervous tremor
brought on by the scent of tobaccothe slightest
indication of its presence, even upon the open
lusINe GENERATION. 16 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
air, making them faint. A gentleman widely
known in the fashionable circles of English so-
ciety, was absolutely driven into obscurity by this
peculiar physical sensitiveness. He had to aban-
don all mixed company, and all public places,
and confine his associations to individuals who,
he could he assnred, would not offend him hy
using the weed, or carrying it concealed about
their persons. We knew a gentleman, to whom
tobacco was hut little less ohnoxious, that was
awakened at midnight hy a sense of oppression,
a difficulty in hreathing. Snpposing that some
of the inmates of his household had offended by
indulging in a smoke, he instituted inquiry, hut
found no one guilty. The cause of all his tron-
hle was finally traced to a short-legged pipe,
that some one had dropped in front of his res-
idence. This removed, the air was restored to
its wonted purity, and the gentleman to his com-
fortable nap.
Dr. Aldrich, a celebrated scholar and divine
in his day, was proverbial for his excessive fond-
ness for the pipe. It was so notorious among
the students nnder his charge, that on one occa-
sion a wager was laid hetween two or three that,
although very early in the morning, the Dean,
who was at that time in his room, would he
found smoking. On their heing admitted to the
Doctors presence, and announcing the ohject of
their visit, the Dean, with perfect good-humor,
replied, You see, Sir, addressing the party
who gave the challenge, you have lost your
wager, for I am not now smoking, hut only fill-
ing my pipe.
As one of the divisions of our army, under
Scott, was proceeding on toward the city of
Mexico, filling the national road for miles
with a serpentine train, a number of monks, re-
siding in a monastery situated on a neighboring
zOaD OF SYMPAThY
eminence, in picturesque procession descended
to the road-side, chanting hymns, the leader
bearing before him a silver box, on the top of
which was a lamp burning before a cross, and
an aperture to receive contributions from the
charitably-disposed. As our soldiers passed
along, many of foreign birth contributed of
their pay, and received a blessing from the
awaiting monks. Finally a tall Yankee, he-
longing to one of the New England Reghuents,
upon whose clothes still rested the fragrant per-
fume of the Aristook pine, stopped before the
contribution-box, dropped his musket to the
ground, and commenced searching in his pock-
ets. It was evident that he would give some-
thing. Having completed his explorations, he
unhitched a short-stemmed tobacco-pipefrom the
string that served as a baud to his slouched hat,
and filling the bowl with the tobacco that had
taken him so long to find, quietly lighted it at the
holy fire, then, perfectly unconscious of having
committed an improper, much less a sacrilegious,
deed, he wended his way onward toward the fa-
bled halls of the Montezumas. The eyes of the
old friars, who witnessed this profanation, fairly
rolled out of their sockets with surprise and hor-
ror, and they felt an additional dread of the bar-
barous North Americans, who were, according
to their estimation, not only giants in strength
and eagles in courage, but also heathens and
heretics of the most formidable degree and the
most irreclaimable kind.
It is related of a Dutch sailor, that while sit-
ting on the gallows he asked for a last smoke,
which being granted, he was soon absorbed in
the luxury, thinking nothing of the future, only
of the present. When told that the fated mo-
ment had arrived, he carefully laid aside his
pipe, and prepared for the terrible leap. Most
unexpectedly, his pardon was read, which being
concluded, with tears of gratitude in his eyes he
seized his still warm pipe, and said, I was sure
thou wouldst not be out so fast.
Toward the close of the reign of Louis the
Fifteenth of France, a Turkish embassador re-
siding in Paris, insisted upon smoking while at-
tending the theatres. So sacred was his person
considered that the police dared not prevent
him, althongh the whole audience was annoyed,
and constantly expressed disapprobation. Dis-
covering the cause of the frequent interruptions
of the play, he pronounced the authors of it a
mob, and with increased zeal puffed his tell-
honk.
We well remember an old Irisliwoman, who
used to sit at night, to display her apples, be-
neath the radiance of one of the gas-lamps near
the City Hall. She was an old cronethe very
personification of a virago. For hours she would
watch the passers-by, repeating to herself in-
numerable prayers and maledictions, and al-
though a merchant in fruit, never good-natured,
even amidst the excitement of a sale. One
evening, as we passed, we found her enjoying
the pleasures of a short pipe. Here face rested
upon her handher eyes were seeing visions
N
I
K THE HISTORY AND MYSTERY OF TOBACCO. 17
her mouth was wreathed in a smile. What did
she care for the sordid gains of commerce?
Poverty, and its accompanying horrors, had
melted into joyous inspirationher soul was
wrapped in Elysium. Meanwhile the rude boys
had discovered her forgetfulness, and when she
awoke from her reverie, it was to find that her
property had been filched, and that her trip to
dream-land was enjoyment acquired at the ex-
lense of comfort in this.
Among all the practical evidences of sym-
J)athv which the women of France displayed
for their suffering kindred in the Crimea, none
so deeply excited a universal sentiment of ad-
miration as when the ladies of Bordeaux so-
licited subscriptions for the specific purpose of
purchasing tobacco and pipes for the use of the
heroes of Alma and Inkermaun. There seemed
to be a universal feeling that this was more
genial, more thoughtful, more touching than
the sending of even food and raiment; and
when the venerablc Archbishop seconded the
labors of his flock, by collecting money with
which to purchase wine for the sick, enthusi-
asm rose to its highest pitch.
Some years ago, an American gentleman, who
was spending some time in Havana, noticed,
one evening, in an obscure street, a person ap-
proaching him enveloped in a cloak, his face
concealed, yet persistently smoking a cigar.
The fragrant perfume, as it spread itself on the
evening air, su~gested the enjoyment of the
same luxury, and, pulling out his case, he asked
VOL. XLNo. 61.B
the mysterious perambulator for a light. The
desire was granted, and the American for an
instant lit up his features by the ignition of his
cigar. The stranger started back with surprise,
exclaiming, Had I not seen your face, I should
have assassinated you for another ierson
Frederick William of Prussia, the father of
Frederick the Greatunlike King Jameshad
a royal liking for tobacco; and a picture, repre-
senting his smoking room and its inmates, is
still preserved in Berlin. His Majesty, in plain
clothes, is sitting in the midst of his company,
while the Queen is lighting his pipe; on his
right hand and left are his Ministers and Gen-
erals, also with pipes. The learned Gundling,
evidently in a very loud voice, is reading a news-
paper. There is no expensive furniture in the
apartment; the table is without a spread, and
the seats are merely wooden benches. It was in
the smoking room that the irascible and more
than half-crazy monarch enjoyed his only pleas-
ant hours; for he often enterec~ gloomy and
peevish, but never left except in excellent hu-
mor. At these social parties every one was
permitted to speak his mind frankly, comment
upon the Government freely, and even criticise
the conduct of the King: thus he had an op-
portunity of learning many things which would
otherwise have been concealed from his knowl-
edge. Fortunate, indeed, would it he, if smok-
ing rooms were common among all the rulers
of mankind, that they might occasionally hear
the language of truth instead of the ever-ful-
some strain of interested flattery.
Fanny Kemble used to relate, with great
gusto, a cigar adventure she met with while
traveling in Georgia. It appears that the day
was hot, the roads rough, and she an invalid
the passengers in the stage, herself and a gen-
tleman. As the heavy vehicle rumbled along,
there mingled, with the dust that constantly
penetrated its interior, the fumes of a most
execrable cigar. Every blast of the Stygiari
fume sent a tremor of deadly sickness through
Fannys heart; the gentleman, her traveling
companion, remonstrated with the driver, ex-
plained the mischief he was doing, and prom-
ised the independent Jehu, at the end of the
journey, the reward of twenty-five choice ha-
vanas if he would throw away his vile weed.
The drivers reply was, Yes, yes, in a minute
but the evil complained of continued until final-
ly it became insufferable. Then it was that
Fanny leaned out of the coach-window, and
said, Sir, I appeal to your generosity to throw
away that cigar; and I know, from the proverb-
ial politeness of the Americans, that my request
will be granted. Yes, yes, said the driver
with some trepidation, I intended to do it:
but I wanted first to smoke it short enough to
put in my hat!
In conclusion we would say that a curious
and instructive work could he written upon the
influence of tobacco upon the intellectual char-
acter of nations. It makes the French more
gay, the Spaniards more grave. It has con-
COMFORT OF SMOKE. 18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
firmed the Germans in their speculative phi-
losophies, and made fatalism the constitution,
instead of a belief of the Moslem, and weakened
the animal activity of all. What was heretofore
action is now smoke. The Turks, who, before
the discovery of tobacco, were the terror of
Christendom, have sunk under its enervating
influence into second childhood.
The Hollanderswhose ancestors wrested a
country from the waves of the ocean, and once
swept the seas with a broom, emblematical of
their naval prowessnow live upon the exploits
of the past, and smoke undismayed amidst all
the confusion of the present and the threaten-
ings of the future. But in spite of these sad
examples of national lethargy before us, we must
confess that we sometimes envy the refreshing
calmness of their stagnation, particularly when
contrasted with the death-inviting activity of
the American character.
The use of tobacco upon our own people is
exhibiting its effects by increasing the mental
activity at the expense of the physical frame.
It is stripping our men of all corporeal weight,
and leaving them, like over-trained steeds, to
fly across, not travel, the field of life. Of course
the career is brilliant, but necessarily somewhat
short. The rising generation is attenuated, but
the brain is largethe jaws are shrinking up
and crowding the teeth, but the imagination is
expanded, and self-confidence knows no bounds.
What the future will develop, no ope can de-
termine; but if our disregard of natural laws is
persisted inif we cultivate only the intellect-
ual, and forever neglect the well-being of the
earthly templewe must eventually resemble
those ambitious steamers whose engines, being
too large for the hulls, as a consequence shake
themselves rapidly to pieces by the very power
that sends them ahead. While contemplating
the evils of such a result, we can not but regret
that we are not as a nation possessed of a slight
infusion of that refreshing slowness so peculiar
to the Turks and Hollandersthat our immense
consumption of tobacco should not calm our
nervesthat its smoke should not encourage us
in the occasional practice of quiet aspirations.
If this were the case, then tobacco, well-qual-
ified and opportunely taken, would indeed
be a virtuous herb, and its enemies become
as silent as are the ashes that fell from Uncle
Tobys pipe.
CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH
EYES.*
IN April, 1850for aught we know it was on
the first day of the monththe good steamer
Cherokee landed Mr. FRANK MAIIRYATT, an En-
glish gentleman of fortune, together with half
a thousand free and independent American
citizens in red and blue woolen shirts, at the
fever-haunted town of Chagres. Our friend
was on his way to California, having in view
two very laudable objects: he wished to see lilkt
and to add a few thousands to his worldly es-
tate. In the first of these objects he succeeded
to his hearts content; in the second he failed
quite decidedly. His loss is, however, our gain;
for to the ill-success of his agricultural, archi-
tectural, and mining speculations we owe a very
fresh, racy, and good-humored book.
Besides his own person, our traveler had in
charge a number of rifles of various calibers,
three blood-hounds, and his man Barnes, a
lusty, good-natured fellow, who commenced life
as a poacher, then became a game-keeper, and
as our author leaves him in California, we may
trust that he is by this time a thriving citizen.
At all events he proved himself worthy of being
such, instead of remaining the personal attend-
ant of any man.
Thus accompanied, Mr. Marryatt became an
object of decided interest to his fellow-passen-
gers across the Isthmus, who showed themselves
specially anxious to obtain full particulars re-
specting his birth-place, his destination, and the
nativity of the blood-hounds aforesaid. Be-
coming weary of imparting information upon
these interesting subjects, be proceeded to na-
turalize himself by a process not recognized in
our courts, and assumed the full dignity of a
citizen of the Model Republic in general, and
of the Old Dominion in particular, bound for
California or elsewhere, and thus evaded fur-
ther questioning.
We must pass over our travelers passage
across the Isthmus, letting a single illustration
do duty for a page of letter-press. The imag-
ination of oar readers may picture the paddling
up the river, the floundering through the jungle
the doleful night at the Washington Hotel,
midway between Chagres and Panamathe
musquitoesthe antsand all the tragico-com-
ic events that marked the transit across this
narrow strip of land five years ago. We have
changed all that, now that the iron horse whirls
the passenger smoothly over the smooth rails.
The voyage from Panama to San Francisco
was made in a bark with very limited accom-
modations and a very large passenger list. Of
the hundred and seventy-five souls on board, a
hnndred and sixty are set down as noisy,
quarrelsome, discontented, and dirty. When
they happened to be in tolerable humor, their
chief amusement consisted in picking their teeth
with their knives, and flooding the deck with
an extract of tobacco manufactured on the spot.
When, as was more frequently the case, they
were in bad-humor, they spent the time in
swearing at the provisions and grumbling at the
scanty allowance of water. As, however, there
was no liquor on board, the quarreling stopped
short of bloodshed. When the excitement
threatened to pass all bounds, the wily skipper
would place a small keg of sugar on the deck,
and knocking in the head, would extend a gen-
eral invitation to fall to. At the courteons
summons the grumblers unthered like flies around.
* Mouatui and Molehills; or, Recollections of a Burnt
Jour 1. By FRANK MARRYATT. With numerons Illus-
trations by the Author. 1~mo. Harper and l3rethcrs.
Just Published.

California Through English Eyes18-34

18 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
firmed the Germans in their speculative phi-
losophies, and made fatalism the constitution,
instead of a belief of the Moslem, and weakened
the animal activity of all. What was heretofore
action is now smoke. The Turks, who, before
the discovery of tobacco, were the terror of
Christendom, have sunk under its enervating
influence into second childhood.
The Hollanderswhose ancestors wrested a
country from the waves of the ocean, and once
swept the seas with a broom, emblematical of
their naval prowessnow live upon the exploits
of the past, and smoke undismayed amidst all
the confusion of the present and the threaten-
ings of the future. But in spite of these sad
examples of national lethargy before us, we must
confess that we sometimes envy the refreshing
calmness of their stagnation, particularly when
contrasted with the death-inviting activity of
the American character.
The use of tobacco upon our own people is
exhibiting its effects by increasing the mental
activity at the expense of the physical frame.
It is stripping our men of all corporeal weight,
and leaving them, like over-trained steeds, to
fly across, not travel, the field of life. Of course
the career is brilliant, but necessarily somewhat
short. The rising generation is attenuated, but
the brain is largethe jaws are shrinking up
and crowding the teeth, but the imagination is
expanded, and self-confidence knows no bounds.
What the future will develop, no ope can de-
termine; but if our disregard of natural laws is
persisted inif we cultivate only the intellect-
ual, and forever neglect the well-being of the
earthly templewe must eventually resemble
those ambitious steamers whose engines, being
too large for the hulls, as a consequence shake
themselves rapidly to pieces by the very power
that sends them ahead. While contemplating
the evils of such a result, we can not but regret
that we are not as a nation possessed of a slight
infusion of that refreshing slowness so peculiar
to the Turks and Hollandersthat our immense
consumption of tobacco should not calm our
nervesthat its smoke should not encourage us
in the occasional practice of quiet aspirations.
If this were the case, then tobacco, well-qual-
ified and opportunely taken, would indeed
be a virtuous herb, and its enemies become
as silent as are the ashes that fell from Uncle
Tobys pipe.
CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH
EYES.*
IN April, 1850for aught we know it was on
the first day of the monththe good steamer
Cherokee landed Mr. FRANK MAIIRYATT, an En-
glish gentleman of fortune, together with half
a thousand free and independent American
citizens in red and blue woolen shirts, at the
fever-haunted town of Chagres. Our friend
was on his way to California, having in view
two very laudable objects: he wished to see lilkt
and to add a few thousands to his worldly es-
tate. In the first of these objects he succeeded
to his hearts content; in the second he failed
quite decidedly. His loss is, however, our gain;
for to the ill-success of his agricultural, archi-
tectural, and mining speculations we owe a very
fresh, racy, and good-humored book.
Besides his own person, our traveler had in
charge a number of rifles of various calibers,
three blood-hounds, and his man Barnes, a
lusty, good-natured fellow, who commenced life
as a poacher, then became a game-keeper, and
as our author leaves him in California, we may
trust that he is by this time a thriving citizen.
At all events he proved himself worthy of being
such, instead of remaining the personal attend-
ant of any man.
Thus accompanied, Mr. Marryatt became an
object of decided interest to his fellow-passen-
gers across the Isthmus, who showed themselves
specially anxious to obtain full particulars re-
specting his birth-place, his destination, and the
nativity of the blood-hounds aforesaid. Be-
coming weary of imparting information upon
these interesting subjects, be proceeded to na-
turalize himself by a process not recognized in
our courts, and assumed the full dignity of a
citizen of the Model Republic in general, and
of the Old Dominion in particular, bound for
California or elsewhere, and thus evaded fur-
ther questioning.
We must pass over our travelers passage
across the Isthmus, letting a single illustration
do duty for a page of letter-press. The imag-
ination of oar readers may picture the paddling
up the river, the floundering through the jungle
the doleful night at the Washington Hotel,
midway between Chagres and Panamathe
musquitoesthe antsand all the tragico-com-
ic events that marked the transit across this
narrow strip of land five years ago. We have
changed all that, now that the iron horse whirls
the passenger smoothly over the smooth rails.
The voyage from Panama to San Francisco
was made in a bark with very limited accom-
modations and a very large passenger list. Of
the hundred and seventy-five souls on board, a
hnndred and sixty are set down as noisy,
quarrelsome, discontented, and dirty. When
they happened to be in tolerable humor, their
chief amusement consisted in picking their teeth
with their knives, and flooding the deck with
an extract of tobacco manufactured on the spot.
When, as was more frequently the case, they
were in bad-humor, they spent the time in
swearing at the provisions and grumbling at the
scanty allowance of water. As, however, there
was no liquor on board, the quarreling stopped
short of bloodshed. When the excitement
threatened to pass all bounds, the wily skipper
would place a small keg of sugar on the deck,
and knocking in the head, would extend a gen-
eral invitation to fall to. At the courteons
summons the grumblers unthered like flies around.
* Mouatui and Molehills; or, Recollections of a Burnt
Jour 1. By FRANK MARRYATT. With numerons Illus-
trations by the Author. 1~mo. Harper and l3rethcrs.
Just Published. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 19
the luscious treat, and the contents of the cask
were soon, by the aid of their knives, transferred
to their mouths.
One Sunday they were favored with religious
services, conducted hy a personage who claimed
to he a minister of some out of the way sect or
other. His ministrations were fervent enough,
and he possessed a wonderful faculty of shed-
ding tears. But the effect of his pathetic ex-
hortations was somewhat neutralized by the
reminiscence on the part of his hearers of a
quarrel iu which he had not long before taken
a part, in the course of which he had expressed
the amiable intention of ripping np the guts
of the vessels cook.
Mr. Marryatt reached San Francisco in June,
just after one of the great conflagrations that
have devastated that combustible city. Nobody,
however, seemed to take his losses very deeply
to heart; but every one seemed bent on repair-
ing them as soon as possible. Mr. Smith, who
was superintending the erection of a temporary
varehouse to supply the place of one which had
heen burned, consoles Mr. Jones, who acknowl-
edges to being not only burnt out, but burst np
as flat as a pancake, by the cheering assurance
that this is a great country ; to which the
philosophic Jones emphatically responds, No-
thin shorter. Both are in a few days estab-
lished in their new quarters, and are apparently
once more on the road to fortune. As those
principally concerned seemed to take the mat-
ter so calmly, our author saw no reason why a
stranger, who had lost nothing by the calamity,
should allow himself to be plunged into melan-
choly reflections.
The first thing that impressed our author
npon his arrival at San Francisco, was the fe-
verish excitement that was every where appar-
ent. At that period, life in California was at
its wildest. The boldest, most eager, and ad-
venturous spirits from every quarter of the world
had congregated there. Men of every grade of
society and of every degree of culture were
flung pell-mell together. The old forms and
moralities of life had disappeared, and new ones
had not yet risen to replace them. Under the
rough hunting-shirt, slouched hat, and heavy
boots of the miner might he concealed either
the honest man or the desperado, the gamhler
or the gentleman. All mingled together upon
terms of perfect equality, for there had not yet
been time for them to classify themselves ac-
cording to their natural affinities. Hence there
was no limit to the introductions with which a
stranger was favored. If you strolled into i
gambling-saloon, the chance was that some
casual acquaintance of both would make you
acquainted with the dealer at the monte table.
Upon one occasion our author found that he
%JRO5SLNG TIlE ISThMUS. 20 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
had just had the honor of shaking hands with a
man who had not long hefore committed a mur-
der, and had escaped hanging only by bribing
judge, jury, and witnesses.
Clubs, reading-rooms, and female society
were things yet to he; hence the places of uni-
versal resort were the Drinking Saloon and
Gambling House, which were in most cases
united iu one establishment. With a keen eye
to profit, the proprietors of these establishments
had fitted them up with a splendor irresistibly
captivating to men who for months had seen no
dwitlling more attractive than a rude hnt or tent.
Pillars, apparently of crystal, supported the gild-
ed roofs. The walls were a-blaze with huge
mirrors, alternating with pictnres of the worst
French school, of the most brilliant coloring and
the most questionable designs. Nothing could
be more motley than the aspect of the crowd
there assembled. Miners in ragged woolen or
greasy buckskin, with long hair and ferocious
mustaches; Mexicans in gay scrapes and slouch-
ed hats; Chinamen with long tails and basin-
like hats; negroes, hodmen, merchants, me-
chanics, all in what costume pleased fortune
thronged around the liquor bars and the monte
tables.
It is said that the Arabs have a thousand
names to designate the lion. Scarcely less mul-
titudinous was the California drinking vocabu-
lary. From the time the habitual drinker
takes his morning cock-tail, says our author,
to stimulate an appetite for breakfast, be sup-
plies himself with an indefinite number of racy
little compounds that have the effect of keeping
him always more or less primed. And where
saloons line the streets, and you can not meet a
friend, or make a new acquaintance, or strike a
bargain without an invitation to drink, which
amounts to a commandand where the days
are hot, and you see men issuing from the sa-
loons licking their lips after their iced mint-ju
~)R1NRINO SALOON. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISh EYES. 21
lepsand where Brown, who has a party with
him, meets you as you enter the saloon, and
says Join usand where it is the fashion to
accept such invitations, and rude to refuse them
what can a thirsty man do? One reason,
he continues, for so many drinks heing con-
sumed is the fact that there is ever some liheral
soul who is not content till he has ranged some
twenty of his acquaintances at the har; and
when each one is supplied with a drink, he
says, My respects to you, gentlemen; when
the twenty heads are simultaneously thrown
hack, and down go Straight hrandies, Queen
Charlottes, Stone fences, and so on through
the whole score.
Where there are so many ready to treat, there
can of course he no lack of those willing to avail
themselves of any chance of coming in for a
share of the general order for drinks for the
crowd. There is a story told of a waggish old
Judge who was wont to find some sport in tak-
ing advantage of the propensity of these hang-
ers-on to indulge their hibulous propensities at
the expense of others. Come, let us all take
a driuk, he would exclaim to the thirsty group
in waiting for such a summons. The har is
forthwith lined with the motley crowd, each or-
dering his favorite tipple. At the word of com-
mand from the Judge the potations are simul-
taneously disposed of. And mow, the proposer
would say, drawing a long hreath of satisfaction,
now lets all pay for our drinks, which each
would sorrowfully proceed to do.
Our author had the perspicacity to perceive
that this was hut a temporary state of affairs;
and that this outward show of ceaseless dissipa-
tion would soon give place, among so strenuous
and eager a people, to a hetter state of things.
Before emharking in the serious business of
money-making, our Englishman resolved to en-
joy himself hy a year of hunting and adventure,
at the same time keeping an eye open for any
promising scheme of
profit. His immediate
purpose was to camp
out in some snug valley
among the mountains
and there to live upon
the produce of his gun
and dogs, eked out, of
course, hy sundry lux-
uries which a well-fill-
ed purse can manage to
secure even among the
Sierra Nevadas.
So one hright July
morning he set out
from San Francisco for
the Russian River re-
gion. The party con-
sisted of Mr. Marry-
att himself, his man
Barnes, and a young
Englishman, Thomas
by name, who had come
out to enter the scrv
ice of a great mercantile house, which un-
luckily happened to hurst up just hefore his
arrival. Besides the hipeds there were at the
start three dogs, hut one of these, a mighty
blood-hound, ran mad shortly after their depart-
ure, and was shot, after narrowly missing a snap
or two at his master.
The party pitched their tent for a day or two
at Benicia, a flourishing town upon paper, with
sites for numerous public buildings carefully laid
down. In fact, it wanted only huildings and
inhabitants to constitute it a considerable city.
Upon examining the map, they found that they
were encamped precisely in the centre of the
Public Botanical Gardens. While they were
trying to engage mules to carry them on their
way, our author hecame acquainted with a cer-
tain Don Raymond Castillo, a dashing native
Californian, who owned a ronche some forty
miles in the interior, from whom he received an
invitation to pay him a visit, and remain until
the necessary animals for their further advance
could he procured.
At the mache of Don Raymond our friend
had a specimen of the old-time life of a Cali-
fornian gentleman, as it was before the advent
of los Arnericaaos. The mansion was a long,
low adobe house, with a court-yard in front, part-
ly sheltered hy a porch. Here the vaccaros, or
herdsmen, of the ranche passed their time when.
as was usually the case, they had nothing spe-
cial to do, lounging about, smoking, playing the
guitar, or indolently twisting a lasso out of raw
hide or horse-hair. It was very like the court of
a baron of the feudal times. A dozen or more
of the small wiry horses of the country always
stood saddled in the court-yard, in readiness for
any emergency. The scene would now and then
be varied by the arrival of a miserable Indian
bringing in some trifling article of game. Some
time in the course of the day a vaccaro would
rise slowly up, as though the idea had just oc-
vACcARO AND INDIAN. 22 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
curred to him that there might possihly he some- signs of the horse. When he rises, his tormentor
thing for him to do. Slowly he saunters up to is still on his hack. He honnds away in terror,
his horse, uncoils his lasso, and fastens it Se- urged on hy the sharp thrusts of the spur goring
curely to the saddle-how. One and another his sides, and disappears in the distance. In
follow his example, until at last the whole group, a few hours he is hronght hack, panting, and
looking more asleep than awake, are seated in sohhing, and exhausted. A hncket or two of
their saddles. In an instant the scene changes. cold water is dashed over him, the thick hlind
The fellows, looking so sleepy while on foot, are is again put over his eyes, and he is left in
transformed into new heings when once their darkness to meditate over his luckless fortune
feet are fairly in the stirrups. One thrust of a most perplexed horse. The lesson is repeated
the long rowels of their spurs into the side of two or three times, with continually decreas-
their heasts, who await no second hint, and away ing resistance. In three days his education
dash the whole troop, waving their lassos in the is pronounced complete, and he is denom-
air, shouting at the top of their voices, plashing mated a ?nanzo, or tamed horse :though, as
through the river, scouring across the plain he- may readily he imagined, his taming, like the
yond, and sending up a cloud of dust that marks civilization of the Russians, is not more than
their course long after they themselves are out skin deep.
of sight. Our Englishmen spent a few days hunting
These native Californians are superh riders with these rough riders. Having heen long
and well they need to he, considering the ani- trained to the saddle, they managed to acquit
mals they bestride. When the ranchero finds themselves to their own satisfaction, and to the
that his herd of riding horses needs replenish- unhounded admiration of their Californian ac-
ing, he dispatches a troop of vaccaros to the quaintances. They, however, suggested to their
mountains, who return driving hefore them a host that they would prefer to hunt on foot,
baud of wild, lean, vicious-looking colts. They stalking the deer in the Highland fashion. But
are driven into the corral, where the best-look- their ardor was not a little damped when it was
i ug are selected for use, and the herdsmea enter, hinted to them that rattlesnakes abounded in
lasso in hand, to capture the chosen beasts. the long grass. In spite of this ominous warn-
The maddened herd fly wildly around the en- ing they made some attempts at hunting in their
closure, hut all in vain, a cast of the unerring own fashion; hut our author confesses, with
lasso arrests one of them, who is blindfolded and laudable candor, that they were too much occu-
dragged, half-strangled, to the gate. Before he pied with looking out for these pleasant reptiles
has time to recover from his stupefaction a hri- to pay due attention to their game.
die, with a hit so formed that the least pressure The pleasure of their visit to Don Raymond
upon the rein forces a sharp prong up into the was much marred hy the hostility of a neighbor-
roof of the mouth, is thrust into his jaws, and a ing cebellero, who heing a suitor for the favor of
saddle is firmly girt upon his hack. A vaccaro the sister of their host, took it into his head that
leaps into the saddle, while a com-
rade removes the hlind from the
horses eyes, usually getting a
bite on the shoulder for his pains.
Now comes the contest hetween
horse and rider. Backjumps and
forward jumps, side jumps and
buck jumps, stiff-legged jumps
and compound jumpsevery
form and combination of jump,
kick, and twist of which the sup-
ple limbs of a wild horse are ca-
pable, are put in almost simul-
taneous requisition. But the
rider keeps his seat like a Cen-
taur, answering every effort of
the horse by a fierce dig of his
long sharp spurs. For a moment
the horse stands still, as though
meditating, then gives a series of
inmiad plunges in the air, and fling-
Pig himself suddenly down upon
his side, tries to roll over. Here
he Californian saddleat which
the uninitiated are apt to sneer
manifests its advantages. The
mnassy stirrups protect the riders
legs, while a stout bar lashed
crosswise frustrates the rotary de- QUILP. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 23
the dashing new-corners were disposed to rival his leg. Down he falls, and is punished till he
him in the affections of his lady-love. Upon makes up his mind that the better part of valor
this worthy, who was a short, stout, greasy little is discretion, and he contents himself with stalk-
fellow, they bestowed the suggestive nickname ing sullenly away to the hills, where he tries to
of Qulip. He had a way, after having ex- revenge himself upon the world in general by
hausted himself hy his vigorous style of dane- fruitless attempts to gore the largest oak he
~ of taking his seat upon a hench hy the door, can find. What with brandy and hard work
and singing in a dolorous tone some love-song the operators become so thoroughly exhausted
to his inamorata or hymn to the Blessed Virgin, by nightfall, that even the fandango has no
accompanying himself with a villainous twang- charms for them. The performance generally
ing upon an old guitar. There was a special ends with a quarrel or two, ahout the speed of
hostility between him and Barnes, and our an- some favorite horse, usually accompanied by
thor had the greatest difficulty in keeping the some attempts at using the knifea pleasant
wrath of his henchman within due bounds, little habit among all the descendants of the
They therefore resolved to protract their stay old Castilian stock.
only till branding time. This is one of the Having been furnished by Don Raymond
great events at a California ranche. For a with mules and a horse, our hunters took leave
week the mountains have been scoured to col- of their host, and started across the plains to-
lect the herds of neat stock, in order that they ward Russian River. They encamped upon the
may be branded with
the marks of their
owners. The ranchero
now keeps open house,
and all the neighbor-
ing vaccaros, in their
holiday bravery, flock
together, partly to as-
sist in the labor, and
get a share of the good
cheer, and partly to see
to it that none of their
own cattle are inter-
nilugled with those of
their neighbor. The
beasts are driven into
the corra4 near which
a brisk fire is lighted
to heat the branding
irons. A vaccaro flings
his lasso over the horns
ofsome beast and drags
him to the gate. No
sooner has he passed
this than another lasso CAMPiNG OUT.
is flung over a hind
leg, and the cords being drawn tight, the ani- bank of this river one night in great content-
mal falls on his side as suddenly as though meat. But when they awoke in the morning
he had been shot. While thus helpless, the their animals were missing; they had been
hot iron is applied to the quivering flesh; when stolen during the night. Probably some prowl-
it is burnt in deeply enough, the lassos are dis- ing Greasers had been on their track. There
engaged by a dexterous shake, and the beast, was nothing for them to do but to wade the
maddened with pain and wild with aifright, broad shallow stream, carrying their plunder
after staring stupidly for a moment at the by- piecemeal upon their heads.
stauders darts away again to the hills. As On the further side, apparently beyond the
the work goes on, the excitement rises higher. limits of civilization, they found the hut of a
Infuriated bulls charge madly upon the vacca- squatter. Its owner was a tall, sinewy Mis-
ros. A bull-fight is tame in comparison. The sourian named March. But not only was he
shouts of the men who are plied with liquor, the owner of a hut, but he was the proprietor
the bellowing of the cattle, the hiss of the hot of a saw-mill also, which he had built with the
irons, and the smell of burning hair and flesh assistance of a couple of comrades, far beyond
make up a scene of intense excitement. Now the limits of settlement. It was all complete,
and then a beast fiercer than the rest, instead with huge wheel and massive dam, and wanted
of betaking hiniself to the hills when released, only the saw, which was on its way from San
makes a dash at the crowd. But the quick eye Francisco, to begin converting the giant red-
of a vaccaro has anticipated his movement and wood trees which grew around into deals and
his advance is stopped by a lasso caught around planks, in readiness for the tide of population 24 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
which its proprietor foresaw would before long them with a bed for their first night. In due
come thronging into these solitudes. This course of time a hut was constructed under the
saw-mill, writes Mr. Marryatt, erected in the trees, with thatched roof and boarded floor.
forest and of the forest, raising its long beams Sundry conveniences were added as experience
from the midst of the romantic scenery that taught their necessity. Tools, ammunition, a
surrounded it, was a glorious instance of what few of the articles which habit has made matter
energy will accomplish, and of the rapidity with of necessityincluding a small selection of those
which each man in an American colony con- grand old classics in our language which will
tributes to the development of the resources of bear reading over and over againwere added,
the new country. Even the uneducated back- and they fairly embarked upon the hunters life.
woodsman devotes his time and energy to pre- The respective duties of the members of the
paring for wants to come, buoyed up by an ad- party were arranged. Barnes was to be wood-
mirable confidence in the rapid growth and chopper, and was to transmute the redwoods
prosperity of his countrywhich confidence is into rails for inclosing the farm, as they began
a part of his education, and one great secret of to call their little valley; our author undertook
his success. If the Americans go ahead, it is to see to it that venison was never lacking in
because they look ahead. their larder; while Thomas was installed as su
The loss of their animals compelled our ad- perintendent of domestic arrangements. This
venturers to look about for some suitable place latter office was by no means the sinecure that
in which to pitch their camp. The owner of one would at first thought be apt to suppose;
the saw-mill described to them a lovely valley for it was found absolutely necessary to take
a few miles distant, shut in among huge vol- every thing out of the hut each day, in order to
canic hills, as the best place in which they could keep free from the vermin who endeavored to
squat. Following his directions, they soon squat in the deer skins, which soon began to
reached the secluded valley. It was of barely accumulate; and to see to it that there was no
twenty acres in extent, bordered with gigantic scorpion or centipede lodged in some quiet cor-
redwood trees, and having at one side a fine ner. Our author found also that hunting was
stream. The valley itself was bare of trees, work as well as sport. Every animal that he
excepting a single clump in the centre. It was killed he had to bring home on his back at once,
unclaimed by mortal man. A paper was there- if he was to secure any part of his prey froni
upon fixed conspicuously upon one of these the coyotes who were lurking around.
trees, requiring that all men should take due Mr. Marryatts hunting-experience in Cali-
notice that F. M. claims, under the laws of fornia is rather tame to one who has read Gor-
pre-emption one hundred and fifty acres of don Cummings marvelous lion-hunts in Africa,
land, measured from this spot, intending to de- or Bakers elephant-chases in Ceylon. There
fend his right by force of arms. Thus our was little or no material for excitement. Deer-
John Bull was for the time transformed into a hunting has not danger enough to prevent its
Yankee squatter. palling in time; and California is singularly
On their way over the hills they had shot destitute of animals of prey, and the few that
three hares, which were soon impaled on three exist there did not deign to make their appear-
sticks over the firelooking not unlike three ance. They found plenty of signs of wolves,
martyrs, undergoing the agreeable process of but never once caught sight of the animals them-
an auto daft; and a quantity of straw gathered selves. A single panther was the only speci-
from the adjacent fields of wild oats, furnished men of the Californian lion that came in their
way; and even the bears
perversely kept at a wary
distance; so that when our
hunter returned to the hut
at night he had no marvel-
ous adventures to relate.
The time was therefore
quite as profitably spent in
reading aloud for mutual
edification the hooks with
which they had wisely pro-
vided themselves, and iii
speculations as to the best
means of securing a due
share of the golden treas-
ures of California. Barnes
had never been endowed
with that gift of reading
and writing which, accord-
ing to Dogberry, comes by
nature, and his companions
spent part of their even-
THE TWiXE MARTYRS
1-4 ~ CALIFORNIA THROUGh ENGLISH EYES. 25
ings in imparting to him this accomplish-
ment.
Barnes became a very expert ax-man, and
made terrible havoc among the mighty redwood
trees. But he was not the only heing at work
npon their gigantic trunks. The hark of the
redwood, says Mr. Marryatt, is perforated in
every direction, and with great re larity, by a
kind of starling, called, from this peculiarity,
cc entaro, or en~enter. These birds form cells
in the tree with great assiduity, and deposit
therein acorns, which fit very tightly. They
are very quaint and noisy, and employ them-
selves continually, when not fighting, in depos-
iting acorns in the redwoods. You may see a
dozen of them clinging to the hark of one tree
in the most uncomfortable positions, pecking
away, each at a hole. But the carpentaros
work for the more lazy portion of creation, and
one of their enemies is the beautiful gray squirrel
which abounds here. I have often watched a
gray squirrel ascend a redwood; for the birds
work in the upper part of the tree. He is im-
mediately surrounded by carpentaros,who, know-
lug him of old, are at no loss to divine his ob-
ject; but the open day-robber, nothing daunt-
ed, at once extracts an acorn, and popping it in
his mouth, he turns his head from side to side
in the quaintest manner possible, as if to say to
the birds that chatter around him, Pray go
on, dont mind my feelings. Then down he
comes, whisking his beautiful silvery tail. Then
the carpentaros assemble round the pillaged hole,
and scream over the matter so much that you
may imagine them to be abusing the squirrel in
their choicest slang; and presently up comes
gray squirrel again for anotbei~ acorn, having
found the first so good; and then, fresh car-
pentaros having arrived, the noise becomes so
intolerable that the molt enthusiastic of natu-
ralists would walk off wills his fingers in his
ears. The grizzly
bear also takes ad-
vantage of the ex-
posed condition of
the carpentaro 5 wln-
ter provision, and
climbs the redwood
in much the same
fashion as the gray
squirrel, though less
gracefully; so they
say: I never saw a
hear in this position,
and if unarmed I
should not wait to
study his habits, if I
did; for although nat-
uralists tell S1S that
the bear is gramin-
ivorous, there is no
doubt that the grizzly
would sacrifice all the
acorns that grow for
a juicy piece of the
calf of ones leg. The
carpentaro has a more destructive enemy than
even the squirrel or the bear, and a greater
beast than eitherthe Digger Indian. These
miserable specimens of humanity will light a
fire at the root of a well-stocked redwood tree
until it falls; they then extract the carpen-
taros acorns and fill many baskets full, which
they carry away. Eat as much as you like.
but pocket none, the justly indignant carpen-
taros might say.
On one occasion a hear-hunt was got up by
the proprietor of the saw-mill for the amuse-
ment of his English neighbors. He came over
to the valley, accompanied by two backwoods-
men named Sheldon and Carter. The whole
party of six then set out in search of a bear.
In the afternoon they came upon Bruins tracks,
which they followed into a thicket of under-
wood, into which they pursued him. March
got the first shot at the animal, but failed to
hit a vital part. Soon the remainder came in
sight of him. I was astonished, says Mr.
Marryatt, at his size: standing on his hind
legs, with his mouth open like a thirsty dog,
and working himself up and down, he indicated
that he felt the inconvenience of the pellet that
March had intended for his heart, but which
had lodged in his alimentary canal. However
in an instant, and as if by a sudden impulse, he
again assumed the position of a quadrnped, and
hounded toward March and Sheldon, clearing
as much ground at each stride as would have
done credit to the winner of the Liverpool
steeple-chase. A shot from the right altered
his course in that direction, for the grizzly bear
will turn to the last assailant. A momentary
uncertainty on his part nave me an opportunity
of troubling him with one of my ounce-and-a-
half balls. But this only elicited a ~rnnt, and
a rush in my direction. An ineffectual shot
from Sheldon brought the bear ll~Ofl him, an(l
rIlE IIUNTINO LoneE. 26 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
in a moment the poor fellow was struck down
by a single blow from the huge paw of the
beast. The flesh was all torn from one side of
his face, and his jaw-bone was fractured in a
frightful manner. The bear made off in the
confusion, and they saw him no more. The
wounded man recovered from his wound, but
was much disfigured, and entirely lost one eye.
Still Bruin is not a bad-natured fellow, when
let alone. His mate, however, is something of
a shrew, particularly when put out of temper by
the maternal care of her cubs; and perhaps, con-
jectures our author, this accounts for the fact
that the male bear is seldom seen in her com-
pany. To her he leaves the education and sup-
port of their progeny while he seeks amuse-
ment elsewhereI might say at his club; for
it is the habit of bears to congregate in threes
and fours under a tree for hours, and dance on
their hams in a very ludicrous manner, with no
- 3ten3ible object but that of passing the time,
and getting away from their wives.~~
In case of encountering one of these irascible
ursine dames discretion is the better part of
valor, unless one is well-armed. Of course a
tree is the best refuge when a suitable one can
be found; but such a tree is not always attain-
able. It must be just too small for the animal
to climb up after you, and just too large for her
to pull down; and it is no easy point to hit this
golden mean. In default of such a tree, the
next best recourse is to run around the side of
a steep hill; since the inequality of the ground
produces the same practical effect as though the
bear had the legs shorter on one side than on
the other, which materially interferes with her
powers of locomotion.
During their whole stay in the valley they
never saw a single Indian. But once, while
they chanced to be absent, a party of Diggers
came upon their huts, and stole every article
they could carry with them, including their en-
tire stock of candles, and all the clothing be-
longing to the party except what they happened
to have on their backs at the time. This rob-
ouT PROsPEcTiNG.
bery was quite too much for our Englishmans
philanthropy, and he writes, with a coolness
worthy an American backwoodsman that, if
after this, one of the Indians had come within
rifle-range, he would have shot him down like
a coyote; for, he adds, once let an Indian
think he can rob or steal with impunity, and
he will soon attempt to murder you for the
clothes upon your back.
They prospected among the hills in hope
of finding gold, but without success. In the
meanwhile Barnes had exercised his woodcraft
with so much skill, that their farm was se-
curely fenced in, and the question arose as to
the peculiar agricultural product to which it
should be devoted. It happened at about this
time that onions commanded fabulous prices at
San Francisco, and a thriving plot of this odor-
ous esculent was a placer richer than any
gold mine in the diggings. It was easy to make
a fortune upon paper by their cultivation: So
many plants to the acreso many bulbs to the
bushelso many dollars to be received for a
bushel, as per San Francisco Prices Current
multiply this by the number of acres in the farm,
and the total presented a most imposing array
of figures. So onions were fixed upon as the
staple crop, and our adventurer made a special
journey to San Francisco to procure the seed.
This was sown, and in due course of time the
green shoots made their appearance above the
surface of the ground.
So passed the winter, and spring came. Be-
fore the result of the onion speculation was de-
cided, business matters called Mr. Marryatt back
to San Francisco. After narrowly escaping
drowning in crossing the Russian River, and
making a still more narrow escape at Sonora,
where he was attacked by a gang of fellows who
had taken offense at something he had said,
and beaten him until he was left for dead in
the streets, he reached San Francisco.
It was in April, 1851, a year after his first
landing at Chagres. During his absence the
city had assumed a new aspect, so that he hardly
knew it. The town
had advanced out
into the bay, and the
spot where he had
landed was far in-
shore. Society had
begun to assume a
settled form. The
outre costumes of the
previous year had in
a great measure dis-
appeared, and men
had begun to cut
their hair and trim
their whiskers like
those of their neigh-
bors. Drinking and
gambling, as he had
foreseen, had ceased
to be the sole amuse-
ments. Clubs were CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 27
set up and reading-rooms established; and in the operation, for settlers had already begun to flock
Dramatic Museum an approximation to a the- in that direction. His speculation, at all events,
atre was attempted. Finding time hang heavily had been a lucky one. But Mr. Marryatts had
upon his hands while waiting for the arrival of not prospered so welL The onions had indeed
a ship from England, on board of which he had come up beautifully, but the ground-squirrels
sundry consignments, he joined the Thespians, had set up a pre-emption claim, and had made
under an assumed name, and played the leading it good by devouring every plant. The throng-
parts, receiving more favor thanhimself being ing settlers, moreover, from whom March was
judgehe deserved. I became at last, he reaping so rich a harvest, had scared away the
says, so accustomed to seeing my last appear- game, and it required a long days walk to get
ance but one displayed upon the advertising a single shot at a deer. And still worse, our
posters, that I began to associate myself with author had inadvertently forgotten his extem-
the profession altogether, and to believe that pore naturalization, and allowed it to transpire
my name was Warren. that not only was he not an American citizen
Matters thus went on swimmingly until the but had not the remotest intention of becoming
fatal third of May, when the great conflagration one. He was thereupon informed that the
of 1851 occurred, bywhich many lives were lost, elaborate Notice posted up on the redwood
a thousand houses were consumed, and property trees of his farm was not worth as much as the
of the estimated value of ten or twelve millions paper npon which it was written, and that the
was destroyed. Among these great losses, was valley belonged to the first citizen who should
the small one of the destruction of the Dramatic take a fancy to claim it. The failure of his
Museum; and Mr. Warrens occupation, like onion speculation, and the brilliant prospects
that of Othello, was gone. of his iron hotel at Yallejo, had put him out of
Two events happened about this time which, conceit with his valley, and he gave up his pre-
taken together, seemed to give an opportunity emption claim with a good grace, making a
for the realizing of a California fortune, which present of the improvements to a backwoods-
should fling into the shade even that depending man with whom he had become acquainted.
upon the pending onion adventure. The lusty Thus ended Speculation Number One.
young State had been for a considerable while Returning to Vallejo, he tried to find by hunt-
in search of a site for its future capital; and, lug a little relaxation from the serious cares of
like other young ladies with plenty of gold, she money-making. But, adds he, pathetically,
was slow in making her selection. She coquet- we had very little sport at Vallejo. Game
ted and flirted with Sacramento, and Vallejo, was scarce and shy; the few wild fowl that hung
and Benicia, in a shocking manner, and gave about the marshes had an obstinate prejudice
each of them in turn the fairest hope of being against being shot, that it was impossible to
the favored suitor. The choice at last fell upon overcome; and besides, the sun was awfully
a few scrubby-looking hills that formed a por- hot, and the reflection from the naked hills was
tion of the ample estates of General Vallejo, absolutely blinding. While thus hard up for
and the new city was to bear the name of that amusement, he picked up a new acquaintance
valiant commander. Of course there would be in the person of Mr. Rowe, an English engineer
an immediate demand for houses far beyond the of a speculative turn of mind, who was just then
possibility of supply, and the man who should surveying and laying out the capital. The map
be the first to supply this want, might command which adorned the walls of his office must have
his own terms. been a sumptuous affair. The sites of the Bo
Not very long before, a vessel laden with tanical Gardens, Orphan Asylums, Schools for
ready-made iron houses had sank at her moor- the Blind, and other philanthropical institutions
ings during a heavy gale. When at length she were all duly laid down. Rowe had at one time
was raised, her cargo was found to be in a piti- or another come into possession of a dozen or
able plightwhat with mud, clay, and land- so of Indian horses of a breed whose peculiarity
crabs, the iron houses would not do for San is that no amount of feeding will ever put any
Francisco, where peopre would be satisfied only flesh on their bones, lie kept one of these al-
with the best of every thing. But the bright ways saddled at his door, while the others were
idea occurred to our friend that they would be turned out to graze on the wild oats which grow
just the thing for a hotel at Vallejo. So lie plentifully on the adjacent hills. Almost every
bought the whole lot, and removed it to the site day he would turn out, equipped in California
of the new capital, where, by the aid of a pre- style, in search of his herd, and would return at
paratory washing and plenty of paint and furni- night, driving them into the enclosure, from
ture, it was transformed, in the space of a few which they were to be released the next morn-
months, into a showy-looking hotel, and its pro- ing. To Mr. Marryatt they seemed hardly worth
prietor gazed with no small delectation upon all this trouble. But his new friend soon en-
the brilliant butterfly which he had hatched out lightened him on the subject, by informing him
of the dirty-looking grub that he had found in that their pasturage cost him nothing, and that
the sunken old hulk, he merely kept them for the pleasure of hunting
It was now time to look after the onions, and them with the lasso. He invited our author to
our author once more turned his face toward assist in the sport, and capital sport it was. No
Russian River. Marchs sawmill was in busy sooner did the wild herd catch a glimpse of the 28 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
pair coming after them, than they collected in a one or two excursions to the mining districts,
group, watching their pursuers out of the cor- and even tried his hand, with hut indifferent
ners of their eyes. Before they could come success, at working a claim or two. Here, nt
within striking distance, they would set up a all events, he learned something of the ways of
scamper over the hills and down the gulches in the miners; and he hits off very happily the
capital style. After two or three hours they prominent characteristics of the various classes
would capitulate, and suffer themselves to be of miners. The Mexicans, or, to use the Call-
caught, and take their way very demurely to fornia synonym, the Greasers, are the least
the corral. The best of the sport was that it successful of any. They will work all night
seemed to be equally agreeable to both parties, and during the early morning in their claims,
the hunted apparently enjoying it quite as much and spend the day in sleeping and gambling,
as the hunters. making an occasional horse-stealing excursion
for the sake of variety.
The French will work
very quietly and stead-
ily, if nothing unusual
happens to disturb them.
But let a compatfiot
make his appearance, or
a stray copy of the Mon-
iteur fall in their way,
andpick, and cradle, and
shovel are laid aside, and
all hands will devote
themselves to an eager
discussion of the affairs
of their own country.
But John Chinaman
presents the oddest fig-
ure. He works away
with a grave, elongated
HOWEs nORSES face, no laugh ever pro-
Meanwhile the erection of the iron hotel had ceeding from his leathern jaws. His whole
been going on; but just as it was fairly com being seems absorbed in gathering the shining
pleted, the fickle State had altered her mind metal. Gambler as he is by nature, even ava-
and after jilting Vallejo, had given ear to the rice can not induce him to risk the golden store
seductive promises of Benicia, who was in turn which he accumulates; he limits his stakes to
thrown overboard for Sacramento. The city the small copper coin of his country. It is a
made to order, writes
our disappointed ad-
venturer, was then
pulled down and sold
for old materials, to
the great delight, as
may be imagined, of
myself and the other
speculators who had
worked so assiduously
to raise it, and who
had received no com-
pensation. It was quite
like the story of the
Enchanted City, that
was up one day and
down the next. But
somehow, he adds in
aphilosophicalvein, I
dont find so much
pleasure in recalling
the history of Yallejo,
as I did in reading the
fairy tale. Thus end-
ed Speculation Num-
ber Two.
While all thiswas go-
ingon, ourauthormade
JOHN cHiNAMAN. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 29
comical sight to see a couple of Chinamen dis- hood of Sonora; and thither our friend accom-
puting over a contested claim. The noise and panied the eloquent auctioneer. From San
gesticulation are frightful. Their lean arms are Francisco to Stockton the passage was made in
extended in every direction; hooked fingers are the Jenny Lind, a dirty little steamer, which, we
protruded in indication of nnmbers and dates. are told, became finally purified in the only
All the friends of the parties take a share in the possible way, by being blown up. Thence to
dispute, which becomes intelligible only when Sonora the transit was made by stage, at tbe
the breath of the disputants is thoroughly cx- reduced rate of an ounce of gold for the fare.
hausted. They are, however, very ~vary in corn- Under the guidance of a capital whip, who was
ing to blowsa terrible tumult being the sum a colonel to boot, they bowled along in capital
of the harm done in their vociferous altercations. style as long as the road passed over the plains.
Many of the Chinese at the mines have ahan- When they reached the hill country, their Jehn
doned their national tails, given over shaving proved himself fully capable of managing his
their heads, and suffer their hair to grow in its vehicle among the rocks and gulches. When
natural manner. A more villainous-looking they came to an unusually steep pitch, the col-
object than such an Americanized Chinaman onel would apply his foot to the break, giving
can not be imagined. Their straight hair grows the word to the passengers inside to hard up
low down upon the forehead, taking away the to the right or left, as the conch was threatened
look of calm benevolence which seems to beam with overturn on one side or the other. Where-
from the broad expanse exposed by shaving, and upon the passengers would extend their bodies
bringing strongly out the cunning expression of as fnr as possible on the side indicated, and thus
their little pig-shaped eyes. Dress out one of manage to keep the stage on its wheels. On
these unshaven Chinamen in European costume board was an Irishman who contrived to make
of the latest fashion, and mount him on a stub- himself especially disagreeable to the remaining
born hack, and you have the fellow in the full passengers, until at last he was quieted by a
perfection of absurdity. They are very fond of significant hint from a brawny miner, that if he
riding on horseback on their national fbte days. did not dry up, he would chuck him out
They have but one mode of equitation, and this of the stage. This worthy subsequently man-
is to ride at full gallop, shouting and screaming aged to make the acquaintance of one Judge
at the top of their cracked voices; ending the Lynch, a noted gentleman in those parts, for
performance by an involuntary tumble into the passing bogus money, or some transacti& n
sand or mud. of a like questionable character.
Our author reached
Sonora at nightfall, and
made the best of his way
to a 1-lotel to which he
had been recommended.
The lower floor was a
gambling room, and the
upper floor, which con-
sisted of a single apart-
ment, was a sleeping
room. Upon payment of
a dollar, his name was
registered upon a slate,
~ a nd he was informed that
No. 80 was destined for
his individual use, and he
was requested to ascend
the stairs and find his bed
for himself. Winding his
About this time every body had gone wild way through long files of canvas-covered wooden
about quartz mining, and all that numerous class stretchers, furnished each with a dark-blue blan-
who are on the look-out for something to turn ket, and a bag of hay, which was to do duty for
up were off to the mountains in search of gold a pillow, he at length discovered one that bore
rock. Our author fell into the hands of one J. the desired number. The bag of hay was there,
Bellow, a glib-tongued Yankee auctioneer, who but the blanket had been appropriated by some
persuaded him to pay a visit to a mineral dis- neighbor, who was not content with his regular
trict upon whose auriferous riches he descanted allowance of a single one. Taking the hint, our
in glowing terms. Not content with verbal .de- friend, like an old campaigner as he was, pro-
scription, he carried about him, by way of speci- ceeded to strip three neighboring beds of their
men brick, a portion of the gold-laden rock. coverings, and wrapping himself snugly up in
Seeing is believing. There was the rock, and his spoils, addressed himself to sleep. Toward
there was the goldall that was required was daylight he awoke, chilled to his bones, and
to extract it from its stony matrix, found that the la~v of reprisal had been put in
This mine was somewhere in the neighbor- force against him while he slept, some dexterous
curNEsa IIOR5EMAN5II5P. 30 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
marauder having stripped him of all his ill-gotten
spoils. He, however, comforted himself with the
reflection that the new possessor of the blankets
had taken away also the fleas that harhored in
them; and as these creatures commence deliber-
ately feeding abont daylight, onr author congrat-
ulates himself that he had the hest of it, after all.
The Mexicans predominated at that time in
Sonora, and as horse-stealing is a national weak-
ness, and as when a man has come into the own-
ership of a hit of horse-flesh by this questionable
means, he is naturally disposed to realize as
soon as possible, horse anctions were a prom-
inent characteristic of the place. And as, fur-
thermore, thieves as well as heggars are not apt
to he choosers, the animals offered for sale were
not always of the most attractive description.
The pencil can do more complete justice than
the pen to the Horse Market of Sonora.
The mines which had given occasion to the
eloqnent descriptions of Mr. Bellow were at a
village a few miles distant, which bore the eu-
phonious designation of Tuttletown. Thither
our author, in company with the auctioneer and
an engineer, took their way. A careful inspec-
tion of the rock showed beyond question that
gold was there, and the engineer reportedas
engineers will reportthat there could be no
doubt of the profits of working it.
We have called Tuttletown a village; it cer-
tainly deserved the name, if Vallejo had a right
to be called a city, since the former place, at the
time of the advent of our friend and his party,
actually possessed three buildings. In the
course of a fortnight
this number was in-
creased hy a couple of
canvas houses, with
fireplaces of stones
and mud, surmounted
by an empty barrel for
a chimney pot, in the
prevalent style of min-
ing architecture.
Mr. Marryatt re-
solved that, this time
at least, his enterprise
should not be rashly
undertaken. No very
great outlay should he
made until there was
a certainty that it
would prove remuner-
ative. The whole thing
should be thoroughly
tested. Two English
miners, and some half
score of Mexicans were
accordingly set to work
digging and blasting,
while our author and
his associates, Rowe
and Thomas, superin-
tended the operations,
and tested the ore.
The time passed hap-
pily amidst pestles and mortars, windlasses and
buckets, retorts and quicksilver. The joys of
the happy valley and the prospective onion
crop faded before the pleasures of mining in
Tuttletown; for they were buoyed up by the
confident belief that they were now on the high
road to fortune.
Nor were the long-bearded Tuttletonian min-
ers altogether devoid of sentiment, as was once
comically evinced by one of them producing
from some cherished receptacle a ladys boot of
the tiniest size and most delicate workmanship.
See here, boys ! exclaimed the fortunate
possessor to the admiring group who had gath-
ered around, the chunk aint found that can
buy this hoot; taint for sale nohow ! Who
can say of how much hoarded affection and no-
ble sentiment that boot was the visible symbol?
A ladys glove has been from time immemorinl
a pledge of love and fealty. Why should the
covering of the foot be less symbolical than that
of the hand? The foot, we are told by anatom-
ists is a more marvelous piece of workmanship
than the hand, of whose manifold adaptations
Sir Charles Bell has discoursed so eloquently in
his famous Bridgwater Treatise.
In the course of three months two or three
hundred tons of quartz bad been dug out, and
as all the tests applied had proved satisfactory,
and as the engineer still whispered words of
good cheer, Mr. Marryatt resolved to undergo
the expense of the steam power and machinery
requisite to crush the rock and extract the
golden treasure emhedded in it. Long and
THE sONORA STAGE. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 31
careful was his examination of the various deed been tried, but which promised to do more
crushers, rollers, grinders, and triturators offer- than machine had done, and all that machine
ed for his selection. At last he made choice of could do. With this, and an eight-horse power
a newly-invented machine, which had never in- steam engine to drive it, he returned from San
r Francisco to Tuttle-
town.
It was no trifling
task to convey the
boiler over the moun-
tains, for the rainy
season had set in, and
the mud was terribly
deep. At length, by
the united strength
of sixteen yoke of
oxen, and much hard
scolding, and very
likely no little swear-
ing, it was dragged
through, and safely
planted in Tuttle-
town. The arrival of
the engine was a
great day in the an-
nals of the village,
the population of
which rapidly in-
creased in conse-
quence. A baker an(l
AN INVAlUABLE POSSESSION, a butcher establisik
TIlE HORSE MARKET AT SONORA. 32 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
ed themselves there
forthwith, and a spe-
cial election was held,
at which a justice of
the peace and consta-
ble were duly elected.
Rowe, the speculative
surveyor of Vallejo,
was chosen for the
executive office, while
the judicial post was
conferred upon a wor-
thy carpenter named
Brown. And an ad-
mirable officer he
made too his de-
cisions, unlike many
given hy judges of
greater pretensions,
never heing reversed
by the higher courts.
And whatever decis-
ion Judge Brown pro-
nounced, Constahie
Rowe, revolver in
hand, was prompt to
carry into execution.
What with thiev-
ish Mexicans and the
reckless desperadoes
who had begun to
flock to these dig-
gings, the new functionaries had ample oppor-
tunity to exercise their powers. The court
was organized with little formality. The Con-
stahle brought the culprit to whatever spot
the Judge happened to he using his chisel or
saw. The Judge seated himself on his tool-
chest, hy way of bench, and, with a bit of
1)oard held on his knees for a desk, made out
the necessary papers, and the matter was ended.
The Lord Chancellor in wig and gown could
not have done better.
It was by no means universal that so worthy
a judge as the honest carpenter was found. In
the early days of mining there was a very large
proportion of lawyers of the disreputable class;
and as it was taken for granted that they must
know more of law than their lay neighbors, the
justices were usually selected from their num-
ber.
A couple of Greasers, who had been lucky in
digging, disputed the possession of an old mule
scarcely worth her keeping. The case was
brought before one of these magistrates, who,
for the sake of precision, may be designated us
Judge Muggins. Before he would listen to the
case, he decided that each claimant mnst pay
three ounces, as expenses of the court. Each
in turn was then suffered to state his case in his
own language, of which the judge did not un-
derstand a word. This done, his honor in-
formed them, through an interpreter, that the
case must be decided by a jury. A couple of
ounces more having been paid to meet this
Qxpense, a jury was summoned. The jury lis
tened to the evidence, and decided that the
testimony was so conflicting that they could not
award the mule to either; but that the parties
must draw straws for the possession of the beast,
and that the costs should be equally divided
The costs, amounting to twenty ounces, besides
three ounces for liquor bill, were paid, and the
claimants were about to decide the ownership
of the mule in the manner directed by the court,
when it was announced that they might spare
themselves the trouble; for while the court was
in session another Greaser had stolcu the mule,
and had left for parts unknown.
By Christmas the machinery was all in its
place ready for trial. The engineer was a man
of energy, and he determined to make the steam-
engine work. At the very outset he put on
about twice as much steam as the boiler was
intended to carry; and upon being remonstra-
ted, with, asked with an air of surprise, of
what use an eight-horse engine was, if you
couldnt make her work up to twelve ? So the
machinery was set a-going, the quartz was flung
in, and all interested awaited the result. They
were not long in suspense, for in a few minutes
the crusher broke down beyond all remedy. It
was one satisfaction, however, that the engine,
in the language of the engineer, was bound to
go ; and our author set off for San Francisco
to secure machinery strong enough to give em-
jiloyment to the extra four-horse power of which
the engine had proved itself capable. In due
course of time Tuttletown was gladdened by its
l)resence. It was certainly strong enough to
junez azowas counT. CALIFORNIA THROUGH ENGLISH EYES. 33
bear any thing. Success was certain the
quartz must now give up its golden spoils.
But, alas for the vanity of human wishes! one
point, and that an essential one, had been over-
looked: the crusher had been made of iron in-
stead of the hardest steel, and as the engine,
worked to the utmost of its power, whirled the
roller around, instead of the mill grinding the
quartz, the quartz ground the mill; and the net
result was iron-filings instead of gold dust. It
was all over: Speculation Number Three had
failed.
And yet it had wanted little of success. The
steam-engine was sold to some more lucky ad-
venturers, who took it to a gulch, and set it to
work, and they made money by it. But our
author had no time to adventure further just
then. Letters from home rendered a return to
England necessary. So he sold his dogs and
horses, made over his tools and canvas houses
to his late associates, discharged his Mexican
miners, presenting them with certain articles of
household gear, and bade adieu to Tuttletown;
the worthy carpenter Judge and stout engineer
Constable accompanying him for thirty miles
on his way.
The ill success of all his adventures did not
check the buoyant spirit in which Mr. Marryatt
narrates them, nor prevent him from taking a
hopeful view of the future of the Golden State.
He even strikes a balance between the good and
the evil of his own California experience, with a
more favorable result than could he anticipated.
Agriculturally, architecturally, and mineralog-
ically, he says, I had been sported with by
Ma. aoaal~s ANn THE azTTJzNEn cALifORNIANs.
VOL. XI.No. 61.C
fate. The plow in the north, the steam-engine
in the south, and the hotel in the middle, had
been accompanied by pecuniary loss. Yet the
days I had passed had been very happy; and
Philosophy said: You have had health and
contentment, and warm friendship; and if these
were purchasable, many would buy them of you
for twenty times what you have lost in money.~
Among the passengers on hoard the steamer
from San Francisco to Panama was an English
city gent, who had got himself np in the most
exquisite manner. A waiter, not being duly
impressed with the dignity of Mr. Bobbins, was
somewhat remiss in his attentions. Aw ! said
he, in a supercilious manner, do you take me
for a returned Californian ? Nothing was said
just then by the bearded gold-diggers who heard
the offensive remark. But there was trouble
brewing, nevertheless.
There was a man on hoard who had brought
with him from the mines two young grizzly hear
cubs, who were just getting large enough to be
dangerous, and that evening, as Mr. Bobbiiis was
dreamily enjoying a cigar on deck, he was aroused
from the contemplation of his patent leather
boots by moonlight with, Sir, allow me to in-
troduce to you two returned Californians. Ursa
major, thereupon, being held up, scratched Bob-
binss face; while ursa minor attacked the patent
leathers, which he forcibly removed, together
with a toe-nail or so, with his teeth. While
one miner held a screeching, biting, ring-tailed
monkey over Mr. Bobbinss head, another pro-
duced a savage bull-terrier, who, having done his
duty at the mines dogfnlly, seemed very anxious
indeed to make the
acquaintance of Mr.
Bobbinss throat. Is
was some time befor
the returned Califor--
nians could tearthem-.
selves away from their
new acquaintance, and.
when they did, they
tore away more of his
cross-barred trowsers
and cut-away coat than.
any tailor could repair.
The next day we ar-
rived at Havana, and
Mr. Bobbins was wise
enough to leave the
ship and await a pas-
sage in another ves-
sel, and I only wish
that every traveling
gent who, puffed out
with conceit,causes his
countrymen to blush
for his ignorance and
vulgarity, may get as
durable a lesson as
that which Mr. Bob-
bins received from the-
four-footed returnec
Californians. 34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
SKETCHES IN BRAZIL.
BY THOMAS EWBANK.
THE MIZERACORDIA.
THE Mizeracordia, or Public Hospital, is a
specimen of genuine Catholicityuntram-
meled and nnstained with qualifying adjectives.
It is as noble an institution of the kind as any
leople can boast of. Its blessings, like those
(lescending from above, are showered alike on
every age, sex, creed, and condition; on bond
and free, foreigners and natives. Wealthy in-
dividuals often bequeath their property to it.
It is also an asylum for foundlings. The
boys are provided for in a building located on
Botofogo Bay, and at a certain age are put out
to trades. The girls reside in the city estab-
lishment, and are taught to read, write, sew,
cook, etc. At each anniversary the marriage-
able are placed in ranks, and bachelors in want
of wives often find here partners for life. When
two agree to be united, the managers inquire
into the character and prospects of the man
if all is satisfactory, the marriage takes place,
and a dowry of 400 milreis is given him from
the funds of the institution. Rich old men have
here sought wives to nurse them, and to whom
they have left large fortunes.
Having heard much about the daily exposure
of infants, and facilities afforded those who drop
them to escape unokserved, I concluded to walk
over to the place of reception. This, till re-
REcEVTACI a a ua~ a vUNBLiNGS.
cently, was at the Hospital, but is now in a
thinly-occupied street, to the scandal of the
Holy Mother of Nuns, after whom it is named.
The device for receiving the infants is an up-
right, hollow cylinder about three feet high and
as many in diameterthe dimensions of a hogs-
headrevolving on pivots in the centre of its
ends. One-third of the side is removed to give
access to the inside, and the bottom is covered
with a mattress. As the width of the opening
is less than the thickness of the wall, it is im-
possible for those on one side to see through
into the other. This is the same contrivance
by which occupants of nunneries communicate
with people outside of the walls who furnish
provisions, etc.
I walked the entire length of Rua Santa Te-
reza without perceiving any thing of the kind;
but on returning, a hoard, only a few inches
square, over the closed door of an ordinary-look-
ing building, caught my attention. The inscrip-
tion was decisive: Expostos dci Miza, No. 30.
While reading it, corroborative sounds came
forth. The only window in front of the house
was near the door, and was, in fact, the recep-
tacle. What I had taken, on first passing, for
a green inside shutter, I now saw was slightly
curved. I touched it, found it turned readily,
and the opening came in view; whenconfu-
sion !a bell connected to it within sounded
violently! For a moment I hesitated; but when
the inmates of a house opposite raised their win-
dows to see who was dropping a foundling in
the daytime, I beat a quick retreat.
5AINT ISABEL.
I had intended to devote the 2d of July to
the Public Library; but it was a high Church-
festival, and the anniversary of the Mizeracor-
dia, when an interesting public interview takes
place between two Church ladies. Who is
Isabel ! repeated E, at breakfast, in reply-
ing to my inquiry. Why, she is the mother
of Saint John and cousin of Our Lady. She is
the protectress of Hospitals. To-day is Tke
Visit atioa. Our Lady will leave her home in
the Carmo Church to visit her cousin; but Isa-
bel will meet her half-way in Dereita Street;
and after embracing each other, they will pro-
ceed together to the Mizeracordia. The apart-
ments of the female foundlings ~vill be opened
to the public. Young men attend to select wives
for themselves; the Emperor and court will be
present. You had better go. I thought I had;
and if the reader he of the same opinion he will
accompany me.
The procession is advertised for half past
nine A.It. It is near that time. Allowing half
an hour for the walk, we can reach the place by
ten. And here, at the house of Mercy, we are.
The Largo in front is covered with mango leaves;
a regiment of the line is drawn up and its fine
band playing; but the preparations are not fin-
ished, for workmen are busy hanging tapestries
from the upper windows. The door and that
of the chapel adjoining are trimmed with scarlet

Sketches in Brazil34-47

34 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
SKETCHES IN BRAZIL.
BY THOMAS EWBANK.
THE MIZERACORDIA.
THE Mizeracordia, or Public Hospital, is a
specimen of genuine Catholicityuntram-
meled and nnstained with qualifying adjectives.
It is as noble an institution of the kind as any
leople can boast of. Its blessings, like those
(lescending from above, are showered alike on
every age, sex, creed, and condition; on bond
and free, foreigners and natives. Wealthy in-
dividuals often bequeath their property to it.
It is also an asylum for foundlings. The
boys are provided for in a building located on
Botofogo Bay, and at a certain age are put out
to trades. The girls reside in the city estab-
lishment, and are taught to read, write, sew,
cook, etc. At each anniversary the marriage-
able are placed in ranks, and bachelors in want
of wives often find here partners for life. When
two agree to be united, the managers inquire
into the character and prospects of the man
if all is satisfactory, the marriage takes place,
and a dowry of 400 milreis is given him from
the funds of the institution. Rich old men have
here sought wives to nurse them, and to whom
they have left large fortunes.
Having heard much about the daily exposure
of infants, and facilities afforded those who drop
them to escape unokserved, I concluded to walk
over to the place of reception. This, till re-
REcEVTACI a a ua~ a vUNBLiNGS.
cently, was at the Hospital, but is now in a
thinly-occupied street, to the scandal of the
Holy Mother of Nuns, after whom it is named.
The device for receiving the infants is an up-
right, hollow cylinder about three feet high and
as many in diameterthe dimensions of a hogs-
headrevolving on pivots in the centre of its
ends. One-third of the side is removed to give
access to the inside, and the bottom is covered
with a mattress. As the width of the opening
is less than the thickness of the wall, it is im-
possible for those on one side to see through
into the other. This is the same contrivance
by which occupants of nunneries communicate
with people outside of the walls who furnish
provisions, etc.
I walked the entire length of Rua Santa Te-
reza without perceiving any thing of the kind;
but on returning, a hoard, only a few inches
square, over the closed door of an ordinary-look-
ing building, caught my attention. The inscrip-
tion was decisive: Expostos dci Miza, No. 30.
While reading it, corroborative sounds came
forth. The only window in front of the house
was near the door, and was, in fact, the recep-
tacle. What I had taken, on first passing, for
a green inside shutter, I now saw was slightly
curved. I touched it, found it turned readily,
and the opening came in view; whenconfu-
sion !a bell connected to it within sounded
violently! For a moment I hesitated; but when
the inmates of a house opposite raised their win-
dows to see who was dropping a foundling in
the daytime, I beat a quick retreat.
5AINT ISABEL.
I had intended to devote the 2d of July to
the Public Library; but it was a high Church-
festival, and the anniversary of the Mizeracor-
dia, when an interesting public interview takes
place between two Church ladies. Who is
Isabel ! repeated E, at breakfast, in reply-
ing to my inquiry. Why, she is the mother
of Saint John and cousin of Our Lady. She is
the protectress of Hospitals. To-day is Tke
Visit atioa. Our Lady will leave her home in
the Carmo Church to visit her cousin; but Isa-
bel will meet her half-way in Dereita Street;
and after embracing each other, they will pro-
ceed together to the Mizeracordia. The apart-
ments of the female foundlings ~vill be opened
to the public. Young men attend to select wives
for themselves; the Emperor and court will be
present. You had better go. I thought I had;
and if the reader he of the same opinion he will
accompany me.
The procession is advertised for half past
nine A.It. It is near that time. Allowing half
an hour for the walk, we can reach the place by
ten. And here, at the house of Mercy, we are.
The Largo in front is covered with mango leaves;
a regiment of the line is drawn up and its fine
band playing; but the preparations are not fin-
ished, for workmen are busy hanging tapestries
from the upper windows. The door and that
of the chapel adjoining are trimmed with scarlet SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 35
damask. The troops are of all colorsan as-
semblage of the three marked varieties of oar
raceblack, red, and white skinswith every
shade from Indian-ink to chocolate, and from
cinnamon to chalk. One of the officers is very
pale and ~van. Spectators begin to assemble;
among them are ladies with their heads dressed
as for fancy balls, and no covering on their bo-
soms bat amalets and jewelry. The majority
are short and plomp as partridges, and so also
are their hasbands. Here are little boys dressed
like old gentlemen, flourishing shoe-hackles and
walking-canes, and small misses decked like el-
derly ladies.
The Carrno is one-foarth of a mile off; sap-
pose, instead of standing here, we tarn in that
direction, and see what the friends of Oar Lady
are doing. We go, and meet her as she issues
from her sanctanry. The procession is headed
by three men abreast, the middle one bearing
on a stave a small cross, and each of his com-
panions an artificial bouquet sarmounted with a
barning candle. The Carmelite Brotherhood,
in cream-colored copes, follow with lighted ta-
pers. Priests, monks, and chanting function-
aries, a goodly namber, come next; some in
white and some in black satainsseveral wear
scarlet stockings, and not a few have cambric
tippets. The next official is a Tliariferario,
swinging a smoking censer. Behind him, and
last of all, comes 17w Lady, leaning on the
arm of a Bishop, whose conical mitre is decked
with rabies, or stones resembling them. Two
dignitaries bear the train or lappets of his outer
robe.
There, theyre past. Bat hows this? Not
fifty spectators following, and hardly a dozen
decent-looking persons among them! Of a
trath, the street part of the pageant is mean
enough. Business people are obviously getting
tired of sach things, and often, as in this case,
pay no more attention to them than we do to
militia companies retaining from shooting-
matches. I hesitated about joining the shabby
escort; bat a wish to view the affair minutely,
indaced me to raise my hat and fall in imme-
diately behind the Lady.
After passing the distance of a couple of
blocks, I would have given a dollar to have got
decently out of the business. We were all
brought to a dead stand by the Bishop. Stop-
ping as deliberately as if he had been in his pri-
vate chamber, he handed the Lady to one of his
associates, slowly drew forth a handkerchief,
and blew his nose secuaduma artesa. Full half a
minute elapsed crc he resumed his sacred charge,
and we moved on again. It was about the
coolest thing I ever witnessed.
Continuing along the street, music at length
was heard, and presently a banner, a cross, and
a crowd were seen approachingIsabel and her
servants. She had heard of her cousin being
on the way, and came thus far to meet her. (I
quote popular language on the subject.) There
she is, and see! Both Ladies fly into each oth-
ers arms, and remain locked together for nearly
a minute. Now they draw lx ck, gaze a moment
on each others faces, and Isabel once more
throws herself on her kinswomans neck, Our
Lady meekly receiving the caresses. But the
patroness of the Hospital recovers herself, goes
to the left of her guest, and a little in advance,
with open hands invites her onward. Thus they
proceeded, Isabel turning every few yards to re-
peat the graceful welcome. As soon as we ar-
rived at the Largo, the troops presented arms
to the cousins, the hand struck up a lively tune,
and the clapper of the chapel bell rattled away
most lustily. People thronged to salute the
Saints until they got inside.
After resting a little, Isabel is to conduct
Our Lady through the wards of the sick and con-
THE isarrixe OF ova aAry AmiD TSAI3EL.
1 -e---- ~ 36 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE
valescent, and introduce her to the Foundlings.
While they are thus engnged we can minute down
their appearance. One thing must have struck
every stranger like myself, viz., the contrast of
their dresses with those of their attendants.
Their gowns were neither new nor newly wash-
cd. Originally straw-colored, age had dyed
them brown; scattered specks of gold flitted
about the skirtsrelics of rich flouncesand
made matters worse. It seemed unaccount-
able, where public reverence was to be excited,
how the managers could allow them to appear
in drapery so unbecoming. The feeling elicit-
ed (I speak for myself) was exceedingly dis-
agreeable, and even rendered still more so by
their soileddecidedly soiledarms, necks, and
faces. The crown on Our Ladys head, and the
halo of rays on that of Isabel, served to height-
en the unfavorable effect.
Had they been ragged street-glils, picked up
for the emergency, less attention could not have
been expended on their persons and attire. To
be sure they were low in stature, and little folks
are apt to be neglected, especially when dumb.
Neither exceeded twenty - five inches. The
Bishop bore Our Lady, reclining on his arm as
an image-boy carries a plaster statue in our
streets. When she was about to meet her
consin, he raised her upright, and held her with
both hands by the ankles in that position till
Isabel came up. Both were then inclined till
their faces met, and they had taken a long em-
brace. While they were in contact their hear-
ers brought their own faces nearly to touch, and
speaking for the wooden Ladies in an under-
tone, exchanged salutations for them. I was
within two feet of hoth at the time. The Bishop
spoke first: he stammered and smiled; and when
he got through, the other, a bard-featured man
with no ornament on his head but his tonsure,
replied in behalf of Isabel, and finished by caus-
ing her to make a low obeisance to her visitor.
I now entered the Chapel between a couple
of guards with fixed bayonets. Large as some
churches, it has four subsidiary shrines, besides
the chief one facing the entrance. After try-
ing in vain to recognize the presiding deities, I
turned to go out, as the place was too warm and
crowded to be comfortable. But lo! all exit
was prevented by transverse rows, deep and
wide, of kneeling ladies, a phalanx there was
no breaking through. I therefore squeezed,
with others, into the Vestry. Here were hal-
berdiers waiting for the Emperor, who shortly
made his appearance, passed through, and took
his seat in a pew prepared for him near the
high Altar.
He was in plain dress, except a blue coat
with epaulets large enough for Goliabs shoul-
ders. The Empress, in black, sat by him, and
her ladies behind them. Their entrance caused
no stir. One of the managers of the hospital
read the annual Report. When he ended Mass
began, at which the young ruler was perfectly
at homeanticipating every kneeling and ris-
ing movement, crossing himself with amazing
rapidity, he was through the operation before
members of the cabinet near him were half
through. This act, the reader knows, consists
of upward of twenty distinct motions of the
right hand and arm, and these motions he ran
over with miraculous velocity.
Twice an assistant priest came from the al-
tar with the missal for him and his spouse to
kiss: they buried for a momertt their faces in
its leaves. At another part of the ceremony
a gilt case, five inches by threelike a thin
book with embossed coverswas passed to them
for the same purpose, and then carried up and
doww a double row of senators and ministers
of State, whose lips the priest touched with it;
not, however, till their lips bad received a pre-
paratory purification. A i1wr~ferario preceded
the bearer of the case, and, coming in front of
each senator, bowed to him, raised the perfo-
rated vase, threw a couple of scented clouds
over his breast and features, made another obei-
sance which the recipient returned, passed to
the next, and so on through the whole.
After Mass there was a sermon. The serv-
ice became exceedingly tedious, and the air
noxious. Every one was weary. Pedro and
his wife rose to depart. A few boys and wo-
men snatched their hands to kissat which
they were not a little annoyed, and with reason,
for the Empress appeared haggard and ready to
faint. Nothing like a smile crossed Pedros
stolid German face, from his coming in to his
leaving. It seemed as if he had been taught
to suppress every motion of the kind as derog-
atory to his station. He entered his carriage
at the door and drove off in silence; there was
not a buzz of applause nor a viva.
Before Mass began the two Lady Saints of
the procession were brought in, when a small
accident happened to Isabel. Her bearer was
prevented by the crowd in front from placing
her steadily on her shrine, and she fell, knocked
over a couple of sacred candlesticks, and would
have tumbled to the ground had not a gentle-
man immediately in front of me fortunately
caught her.
I now re-entered the Vestry, and met my
friend Sefior 110, who had been lookimmg
for me to accompany him through the Found-
ling apartments. Upward of one hundred girls,
plainly but neatly dressed, were ranged along
the four sides of a large room through which
visitors passed. The greater part were nuder
ten or eleven yearsa few might be twenty
three or four were over thirty. None are ever
sent away against their wishes. Their sleeping-
rooms were every thing that could be wished:
four single beds in each. None were married
to-day. Applicants for wives must leave their
names and address, that their characters and
circumstances may be ascertained. In the
school-room were very creditable specimens of
writing. From the dining-room we went to
the Cozinka, where the large brick Fogao stood
in the middle of the floor, as they appear to
have often stood in Pompeian kitchens. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 37
The reader need not be told that Isabel is
the modern representative of the goddess Mi-
seracordia, to whom Greeks and Romans dedi-
cated Houses of Mercy for the miserable and
unfortunate. In the early adoption of heathen
deities and customs under Christian appella-
tions, the attributes and functions of that popu-
lar deity were assigned to Elizabeth, the mother
of the Baptist.
One word on the performances in the Chapel
and Church services generally. I may be pre-
judicedmost of us are when out of the circle
of influences in which our habits and opinions
have been formed; hut this manual, labial, ti-
hialthis sprinkling, smoking, painted, panto-
mimic, histrionic worship of the Creatorthis
system of externalage and gilded similitudes
that sensible mortals would sicken to be com-
l)limented with, does seem out of character with
the present times. In some respects it sur-
passes in grossness the grossest idolatry. The
communion of North American Indians with
the Great Spirit appears to me more consist-
ent and refined. True, it was practiced by our
ancestors; but that was when they were little
better informed than are modern barbarians.
The images are better carved and more neatly
dressed than those of Feticism; hut the principle
involved in the introduction is the same in both.
Can not the human mind in civilized society
dispense with images when savages can? If
religioa be a living principle in the soul, it can
have no more attraction for, or need of such
things, than of bricks and mortar, or any other
form of inanimate substance, no matter how
men, to magnify themselves, may attempt to
ally them with worship. With just as much
propriety might heaven be confined, hy ecclesi-
astical monopolizers, to persons of particular
trades as to those of religious professionsto
carpenters and shoemakers for examplefor
Christian virtue has quite as much affinity for
wood and leather, as for creeds and ceremonies
and these strange paraphernalia.
However well intentioned the unknown au-
thors of the physical worship of gods and dead
men by means of images and their endless
accessories may have been, and however expe-
dient or justifiable (if either term he admissable)
its application to Christianity in darker times,
it surely is not necessary now. But national
and minor hierarchies never purged themselves.
Enlightened only from without, they have ever
heen the last to yield to conviction. Still, the
world in religions matters is advancing; it can
not do otherwise where science is cultivated and
Galileos left free to pursue it. And what is
true science but a manifestation of the Creator
in his works? And what are they but Revealed
Truths, given us to study, and which no one
can study aright without becoming wiser and
better, without feeling his nature rising into
higher phases of existence, and his affections
throbbing with gratitude to the Parent of the
universe for the ceaseless wonders of his benefi-
cence here displayed.
OEMETERIEsBtIaIALs.
In Rio, as every where else, life is a medley.
Tragedyand comedy, death and diversions, farces
and funerals, are mixed up together. No mat-
ter how popular the amusements, innocent the
sports, or uciversal the joys, the Great Intruder
can neither be softened nor cajoled, and to him
monasteries are as attractive as masquerades.
In the midst of the Intrudo-revels the Friar
Barboza, Secretary of the Historical and Geo-
graphical Institute expired. His demise is
deemed a loss to the country, he having been
considered the most devoted man in it to litera-
ture and science. I attended his obsequies at
the Paula Church, and there witnessed the tran-
sition from childish gambols to the solemni-
ties of a funeral; from the heyday of life to
contemplate its extinction. Variable in his na-
ture, man alternates between grief and joythe
poles of his existencetoward one or the other
of which he is ever veering.
A friend of the deceased and I went early.
and had time to look about before the cere-
monies began. The church stands at the head
of Ouvidor Street, flush with the pavement, and
is relieved by poor-looking dwellings on either
hand. It is of the prevailing style. Two square
towers support the central part, whose peaked
pediment is surmounted with a huge bronze cross.
The towers run up a story higher, each finished
with a dome, resembling a boys inverted top,
and the peg set off with a brazen chanticleer
the symbol of Peter and of vigilance.
The interior is a long, high, and airy saloon;
the floor clear of encumbrances; no aisles,
columns, pews, nor aught else to intercept the
view or interrupt ones movements. Light is
admitted at the sides near the arched and rich-
ly carved roof through semicircular windows,
through the three street doors, which as usual
constitute the entrances, and also at three win-
dows over them. The further end is wholly
taken up with the High Altar, a rich affair with
numerous candles burning. Above them stands
the Saint, carved, draped, and painted to monk-
ish life. Against the side walls are six more
shrines, three on each side, with their images
of natural dimensions, so that in this place are
seven altars, where seven distinct saints can be
invoked, and where all or nearly all. of them
are consulted daily.
This temple honors ignorance as well as su-
perstition in the person of its patron, Francis
Martotile, a Calabrian monk, who burying him-
self in a cell, acquired, as Fakirs acquire, no-
toriety by disgusting mortifications. He re-
nounced fish, wine, meat, stockings, shoes, beds,
soap, and razors, besides rigorously cultivating
mental destitution. The usual result followed;
he, like other dirty gentlemen who lived and
died in the odor of sanctity and filth, wrought
miracles. His fame induced that old tiger
Louis XI. to drop on his knees before him, and
implore his intercession with the Saints for a
prolongation of the monarchs daysa miracle
too great for the monk and too good for the 38 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
penitent. What he can do for people here of peaked like the roofs of houses, consisting of
whose country he never heard, it is not hard to two hoards meeting in the middle at an angle.
tell. Hinged at both sides, they open along the ridge
The only si~,n of a funeral was a kind of so that. either one half or both may he thrown
sarcophagus-looking stand in the middle of the hack. When finally closed the only fastening
floor, similar to the article furnished hy under- is a small padlock.
takers. Four feet from it on either side, stood When placed on the stand the folding lids
a row of nine gilt candlesticks of classic
patterns, five feet high, with candles to
correspond. A negro mason was at work,
cutting a door-xvay into the left wall, some
fifteen feet above the floor and near the
altar, for an entrance to a new pendeut or
swallow-nest pulpit, about to be put up to
correspond with one opposite. About a
dozen persons were in, and all moving and
looking about as if on change, except an
elderly female, who came in and seated
herself upon the matted floor within the
balustrade. She crossed herselg and gazed
awhile intensely on one of the side images.
Three colored women, also in black COFFIN OPENED.
vails, appeared and seated themselves be-
side her. These were the only females present.
As I leaned on the rails close by them, a well-
dressed man of fifty came up, and kneeling near
me, touched with his right thumb his head,
eyes, nose, cheeks, chin, mouth, shoulders, and
breast. Then, without rising, he gazed round,
looked at the negro working in the wall, nodded
to me, and kept twisting himself about to see
what was going on behind him.
Ne1,roes brou~ht in huge trays of mammoth
candles, and piled them near the door. A
number of gentlemen soon after entered, and,
with those already in, ranged themselves three
deep on either hand, forming a living passage
from the door toward the altar; and presently
we all held lighted tapers, resting one end on
the floor, and inclining the upper one forward to
prevent the swealing material from descending
on ones hands. Two hundred of us thus stood,
like soldiers at drill with muskets, in the same
position. As currents caused the melted wax
to accumulate beneath the flame, it was uncere-
moniously thrown on the floor by bringing the
tapers for a moment to a horizontal position.
The officiating priest next entered, followed by
others bearing the coffin, which they quickly
I)laced upon the stand.
Coffins here .are not like ours, being of the
same width and depth throughout, and so shal-
low that the face, folded hands, and feet of the
corpse appear above the edge. The covers are
were laid back, and the deceased secretary, from
where I stood, appeared as in the sketch.
While the priests walked round the coffin,
chanting, swinging censers, and sprinkling the
corpse, the black mason above, resting on his
crow-bar, was a conspicuous beholder of the
ceremony.
We now were ahout to witness the mode of
burial; one of classical antiquity, and which to
my mind commends itself as far superior to
ours. The cemeteries of Rio adjoin the rear or
sides of their respective churches. They are
not seen from any street, nor opening directly
into any. At first I wondered where they
were; and when I found them, I wondered more
at their limited dimensions. The dead are not
interred in graves, nor concealed below the sur-
face; instead of extensive hurial grounds or
subterraneous excavations, room for four thick
walls, of which the side of a church commonly
answers for one, is found sufficient. As these
places are on one plan, a description of this of
St. Francisco de Paula will give a general idea
of all.
Passing out through a side door we entered a
quadrangular area bounded by four high walls,
with a continuous shed or roof projecting in-
ward, leaving a central space open to the sky,
occupied hy a few marble tomb-stones. The
niches for the dead, wrought in the walls, were
a little over six feet by two and a half, eighteen
inches high at the ends, and two feet at the
middle, the roof forming a low arch. All are
plastered and whitewashed. In hot weather
they would be no bad resting-places for the liv-
ing. I was no longer surprised that people here
are mostly buried without coffins, and especially
as all are entombed in their clothes.
Here were three tiers of niches, each contin-
ued round the place. Those that were occu-
pied have the fronts bricked up and plaster-
ed over. All are numbered; no other mark
or lettering. Their tenants occupy them too
COFFIN. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 39
short a time for inscriptions or eulogies to re-
main.
The coffin was now placed on a temporary
platform close to a niche in the middle tier,
into which it was slid with the covers open. A
handkerchief was spread over the face of the
deceased by one of his friends; then, in succes-
sion, priests and friends stepped up, one at a
time, and with a silver sprinkler handed by the
sacristan, threw holy-water on the body, and
emptied a small scoop of powdered quick-lime,
which an attendant held ready, upon it. A
bushel or more of lime was thus disposed, until
it entirely concealed the body, and was heaped
over the trnnk. A priest used the silver sprink-
ler once more, poured something out of a small
perforated box, and the church ceremonies
were over. We now put out our candles, leaned
them against the walls, whence black attendants
removed them.
A gentleman now drew a paper from his
bosom, and for half an honr read a eulogy on
the dead. A second, third, and even a fourth
oration was thus delivered; at the close of which
the President of the Institute closed the coffin
lids, locked them, and handed the minute key
to a relative of the defunct. Thus closed the
interesting rites. Several officers of State, of
the military, and members of the Senate, etc.,
were present.
In half an hour the front of the niche was
bricked up, and covered with a coat of white
plaster.
In this mode of inhumation nothing like cur-
ruption takes place.
The lime consumes
the flesh, and in
two years the hones
are taken out, and
placed in a rose-
wood or marble
vase, or burnt, and
the ashes preserv-
ed. The niche will
then be white-
washed, and ready
for another tenant.
The cemeteries
of Rio are literal
copies, on a smaller
scale, of the sepul-
chral structures of
the Greeks and Ho-
mans.* The form
of the coffins here
is also of remote
antiquity. Origin-
ally of stone, and
placed in the open
air, their roofs
were formed after
those of houses,
and with the same
viewto allow rain
to run off. Stone
sarcophagi of this
description are counted among the oldest of
ecclesiastic monuments in Europe.
Two of the orations were published. The
style is too figurative for colder latitudes, but is
characteristic of the genius of Brazil. The de-
ceased had been ambitious of political, as well
as of scientific and monastic fame. lie was a
member of the Chamber of Deputies, took
an active part in the revolution, and urged
Pedro to assume the title of Emperor, as
one more imposing than that of King.
An extract from the best of the panegyrics is
added:
Almost a quarter of a century after the
consummation of the famed factthe creation
of a new empire on the earthDeath has come
and snatched away a chief actor in the great
drama, of which the principal actor was the son
of kings, the beloved Prhice of Liberty in the
Old World and the New.t
He is dead who, in that epoch of enthusi-
asm, proposed to the new sovereign the title of
Emperor, and who, undaunted, raised his
voice in the midst of bayonets, to anathematize
an oppressive policy, designed to reconquer in
America the irreparable past, to suspend chains
in the throne where kings had been seated, and
* See Moses collection of vases, tripods, altars, etc. Plate
114 represents one discovered in Rome in 1146. It has
six rows of niches. Plate 113 exhibits another belong-
ing to the Livia Familyall above the surface of the
gronnd.
t This was Pedro I., whom the Brazilians expelled for
his tyranny.
CEMETERY OF TilE PATJLA cuijaca. 40 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
from which flowed facts that rendered a regress with in other churches, and to them our visit
to slavery impossible.* was intended.
The New World was not shaped to be incas- At the door were three alms-boxes; on one
ured by the hands of a pigmy. The mouths of the Africans own patron, curly-headed San
the Amazon, Madeira, Xingu, and Guayba, Benedicto, was painted; on the second Luzia,
were designed by Providence for a people of with a pair of eye-balls in her hand, appeal-
giants; and for a prince who, from the summit ed to us; and on the third stood Our Lady
of his throne, must one day have conference of the HeadN. S. da Cabe9aholding a
~vith the universe, and mark the track of his human head suspended by a twine or lock of
1ii~h destiny! The conception of this grand hair; reminding one of Judith bearing off that
idea was not sufficient for the genius of the man of Holofernes.
who now rests in the bed of death, but day and Entering, we found the place a picture of
night, with his ardent and creative soul, he desolation; nothing visible but bare walls, ceil-
worked to complete it. ings, and decayed floors. The principal imagc,
Twenty-six honorary titles adorn his mem- and those of the six side shrines we had come
ory, and in eighteen illustrious societies was his to see, had vanished. The saints had left their
name proclaimed that of a sage. niches, viz., Nossa Senhora do iRozario, N. S. da
Brazil must shed tears for the loss of the Couceic~o, N. S. da Cabe9a, N. S. do Bom Fm,
Canon Januario da Cunha Barboza. Santa Anna, San Antonio, and San Benedicto.
BLACK THE NEGRO SAINT. The sacristan appeared, and led us into
BENEDICT, the vestry, a large room, on one side of
- which an altar and apparatus were fitted
\ \ \ \\\\ up. Every thing looked old, mean, and
wornout, for want of soap and paint.
Being asked where the saints were, he
~ said four were put away in the garret
till the church is re-edified, and the
other three are therepointing to the
altar. We drew near, and contemplated
the Lady of the Rosary, or Do Ter9o,
as she is sometimes named, of the nat-
ural size. On one palm a naked infant
sits, and from the other a string of
beadsher emblemhangs. Near her
stands the popular Goddess da Coucci-
cd~o, five and a half feet high. Her
child is in a frock and sash, which
once were white and red, but now are
neither. From her arm is suspended
by a rihbon a fresh wax votive heada
females, and differing from any yet
seen. Its ear lappets reminded one of
an Egyptian head-dress. In front of
these ladies is Benedict himself, black
as jet, and rather low in stature; the
baby in his arms being any thing but a
white one.
Here are by far the best-shaped wax
votos to be found in Rio. Of seven-
teen heads not one had blunted or in-
expressive features. Five had been
taken from a bust of Demosthenes; part
of the females were also from classic
models, and two, judging from their
bull necks were Neros or gladiators.
There were three breasts, several ab-
domens, and a couple of hands. In-
H having, according to appointment, quiring why there were no legs, arms, eyes, and
joined me in Dereita Street, we turned up an feet, our informant said there had been many,
old and narrow lane, named after the Praying but they fell and were crushed.
Abacus, Rua do Rozario. At the head of it While making memoranda in front of the al-
stands the ancient usetropolitan temple, now a tar, I was startled by a groan at my elbow. I
negro church, and the only one conceded to the turned, and lo! a white man, of forty-five or
colored population. Here are saints not met fifty, on his knees almost in contact with mc.
* That is, to make Brazil revert to the condition of a lie had come in on woolen feet. One arm
province after the return of John VI. to Lisbon. was bandaged and in a sling. He was cadav SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 41
erous and evidently very sick. His languid eyes
were fastened on one of the images, to which
he began to pour out his sorrows in a suppressed
voice. I withdrew, and joining H pointed
to the supplicant. Yes, said H , with a
shrug, he told me yesterday he was coming to
see if Nossa Senhora do Rozarlo would stop the
running sore iu his arm. But why come to
a black church ? I asked. Because during
the last eighteen months he has been to every
white one without being able to interest a single
Saint in his behalf. The Lady he is now con-
sulting has her shrine iu this place, and saints,
like physicians, must be called on at their resi-
dences. Many whites come here for assistance,
and some make vows even to that Blackamoor.
Our presence and talking, and the noise made
by two romping colored boys, disturbed not in
the least the poor mans devotions. In seven
or eight minutes he crossed himself; rose, bowed
to the Lady, dipped a finger in the lustral basin,
and went noiselessly away, giving H a sign
of recognition as he passed.
We were about to follow, when an extremely
old and infirm female came tottering in bare-
footed with the aid of a staff. She was nearly
blind, had lost her teeth, and was the oldest
slave I ever saw. She stood awhile to disen-
gage from her skirts a rosary composed of beans.
A few coppers were put into her hands; she
rolled her yellow eye-balls, gasped and gurgled
her thanks, approached the altar, and knelt close
to the patron and kinsman of her race. We
left her communing with himprobably the
only consolation left her.
The cemetery of this church is large. The
niches for the dead are four deep, and all ten-
anted except two.
Black Benedict is generally considered an
imaginary Saint, got np by the Portuguese with
the view of more effectually keeping slaves in
subjection. I have interrogated several priests
on the subject, including Father Tilbury, an En-
glish monk, but not one could say who he was,
where he dwelt, nor how and when he became
canonized.
The portrait of him is a fac-simile of his
blessed picture given out to his devotees, and
worn in their bosoms. As a specimen of art,
it is a fair sample of those of other Saints. In
some few churches lithographs have been intro-
duced for those who contribute bills instead of
coppers. At one Saints feast I noticed three
qualities of the portraits given out.
SAINT ANTONY AND HIS MONASTERY.
We spent the best part of two days in St.
Antonys monastery, an irregular pile of three-
story buildings, located on one side of a hill,
dedicated to and owned by the most popular of
Brazilian minor divinities. The ascent, wide
and paved, winds up at the rear of the Carioco
Fountain. Here and there a slave was asleep,
reclining against the dead wall on either hand,
while almost every where were revolting nui-
sances committed by them.
There are several Antonys in the calendar,
and one is often mistaken for the other. He
who had such amusing personal conflicts with
Satan was of Egypt, and not a few of his acts
and powers have been ascribed to his namesakes.
It was he who, centuries after his death, began
to cure people of a disease not heard of while
he livedone that, from his success in treating,
still bears his name. He only should he pictured
with fire and a pignot, as the wicked might
surmise, to indicate a favorite monastic dish.
The early appearance of erysipelas in Europe
association of the Saint and pigs with it, etc.,
will be found accounted for in the subjoined ex-
tract from Gabriel dEmillianes History of the
Monastical Orders, 1693:
In the year 1089, a contagious sickness,
called the Sacred Fire, a kind of very dangerous
leprosie, having spread itself into several parts
of Europe, those of the Province of Vienna, in
France, had, at last, recourse to the Relicks of
St. Antony the Egyptian. They say that who-
ever did call upon him was delivered from the
Sacred Fire; and contrariwise those who blas-
phemed or took the name of St. Antony in vain
were immediately, by the Saints unmerciful
vengeance, delivered up to it. This gave occa-
sion to Gaston Frank, in company with some
other persons, to institute, in the year 1095, the
Religion [Order] of St. Antony, whose principal
care it was to serve those who were tormented
with the Sacred Fire. They represent St. An-
tony with a fire kindled at his side to signifie
that he delivers people from the Sacred Fire.
They paint a hog near him as a sign that he
cures beasts of all diseases: and to honor him
in several places a hog is kept at common charges
and called St. Antonys Hog, for which they
[the people] have great veneration. Many will
have St. Antonys picture on the walls of their
houses, hoping by that to be preserved from the
Plague. And the Italians, who did not know
the true signification of the fire painted at his
side, thought that he preserved houses also from
being burnt, and they call upon him on such oc-
casions. As for the Fryars, they know so well
how to make use of the power of their St. An-
tony, that, when they go a-begging, if one does
refuse what they ask for, they threaten imme-
diately to make the Sacred Fire to fall upon
him; therefore the poor country people, to avoid
the menaces and witchcrafts of these monks,
present them every year with a good fat hog
apiece. Some Cardinals and Prelates endeav-
ored to persuade Pope Paul III. to abolish these
wretched Begging Fryars, hut they could not
compass their good design; and these Monks
do subsist yet to this day in several places,
though the sickness of St. Antonys Fire be
now very rare.
This old establishment contains good speci-
mens of carving; and the chapel, without a tithe
of the gilt that glistens in others, is a gallery of
paintings, which, if not miracles of art, are ex-
emplifications of the miraculous. They may
not equal the best productions of Raphael or of 42 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Annibal Carracci of Bologna, but they are attest-
ed copies of the works of an individual deemed
vastly more gifted than eitherviz., Antony of
Padna.
The plan of the chapel is two parallelograms
of unequal width (the smaller one the chancel)
joined end to end. The entrance is at the wide
part, only half of which is appropriated to the
audience. We are standing at the door, and
see! yonder at the opposite extremity is Antony
over the High Altar and facing us. Two minor
shrines are near the junction of the chancel with
the chapel. One is occupied by a female, and
opposite to her the original image of Black
Benedict stands. Large as life, good-looking,
his crisp hair shorn a la tonsure, he bends over the
prone baby in his arms and is hushing it to sleep.
For half an hour we were alone. No person
entered except a slave belonging to the Monas-
tery, and he merely peeped in. I endeavored
to take a full-length portrait of the patron of the
placea stout-built gentleman, rising five feet,
and draped in a black gown, braced round his
waist by a tasseled cord. No other article of
his proper dress is visible, but he is loaded with
accessories. Curving outward his left arm, he
grasps with the hand a closed book, the cover
of which constitutes a pedestal for his baby
without which he is never seen. It is a pretty
thing, resting with one foot on the volume, the
other in the air. Its stature is fifteen inches.
It wears pantalets, a white silk frock with sash,
and gold-laced tucks. Tiny frills go round its
neck, a crown is on its head. A ball in one
hand, and in the other an artificial nosegay.
Between Antonys right arm and breast a cross-
headed staff shoots upward, and with it a bou-
quet. Thus far there is nothing very remark-
able. But in his right hand is (what I first took
for a walking-cane) a marshals baton, over his
shoulders a broad red military sash, on his breast
the star or cross of some militant order, and, as
if to mark still more emphatically the hero, his
brows are encircled with a wreath, in the man-
ner of a Roman conqueror.
What does that mean ? I exclaimed.
Mean, replied H , why, that he is a
Knight Commander of the Military Order of
Portugal and Brazil, belongs to the regular
army, is commissioned as Lieutenant-Colonel,
and receives his pay monthly the same as every
other officer.
Come, said I, no poetry. Antony a
soldier and commander of a living regiment!
It wont At this moment a monk came in
suddenly through a side door close to where we
stood. Making a reverence to the saint, by
bringing one knee nearly to the floor, he turned
inquiringly to us. Under thirty, fat, rather
short, but of a handsome miena fair specimen
of a Brazilianmy companion spoke and told
him I was a stranger, desirous of going over
the saints establishment. With a dubious
glance at the memorandum book and pencil in
my hand and then at myself, he asked, Is ho
pious ? The answer was satisfactory; and, sure
enough, what H had said of the martial
offices, dignities, and salary of the saint was all
true. The monk spoke of him in the character
of a general, and I asked, why give him that
title if he is but a colonel? The answer was
ready: according to Brazilian etiquette every
Knight of the Grand Cross is entitled to the
insignia and honors of the highest rank: hence,
in common with his brother knights, Lieutenant-
Colonel Autony, though wearing neither stock-
ings nor shoes, is complimented with the badges
and dignities of a general.
We now turned to the paintings. While
gazing on one rather intently, I risked my repu-
tation with the monk by inadvertently turning
my back on the general, a piece of forgetfulness
deemed incompatible with true devotion. I
ought to have been on my guard, inasmuch as
at another church I had been reproved for a
similar offense.
The subjects are incidents from the life and
deeds of Antony. I shall notice a few only.
1. At the mouth of a well, over which a chain
and pulley are suspended, stands an enraptured
monk. He has just raised the bucket, and with
it a small image of the saint. The story is this:
The brother of a monastery whose duty it was
to draw water, lost the bucket from the chain
Distressed and not knowing what to do, for the
well was very deep, the saint at length inspired
him. Drawing from his bosom an image of the
general, he sent it down. On reaching the water
it caught hold of the floating bucket, properly
hooked it to the chain, and rose with it, to the
delight of the lay brother and the edification
of the brotherhood.
-) iI
II f
II
ST. ANTONY OF PADUA. SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 43
2. The saint in propria persona, acting the
part of a surgeon extraordinaire, is fixing the
foot of a living person to the limb from which
it had been severed. A young man, said our
cicerone, once kicked his mother. He went out
and met a stranger, who startled him by saying,
He that kicks his mother should lose his
foot. Conviction seized the culprit; he re-
turned home and chopped off the offending
member. His injured mother came in, began
to cry, and before he bled to death picked tip
the foot and took her son with her in search of
the stranger. He was close by, and recognized
as St. Antony. Seeing the youth repentant he
immediately healed him. The foot, in drawing
nigh to its proper place, sprung ont of the saints
hands, like the keeper to a magnet, and the line
of separation was not visible.
3. Meeting some Turks, they reviled him.
One more violently wicked than the rest, was
strangely punished. Both his eyes flew out of
their sockets into Antonys hands. The saint
is painted with one between each finger and
thumb, and the screaming sinner kneeling be-
fore him. This was evidence too awful for
Mohammedans to resist. They were converted,
and the saint returned the balls to their gaping
voids, where all became right again.
4. What of those horses kneeling before the
saint, and Turks standing near ? I asked. One
day St. Antony was raising the Host as~ Mo-
hammedans were passing. They derided and
refused to kneel. To convince them of their
error, he told them to bring their cattle near.
They complied, and, to their amazement, the
brutes set them an example of devotion by
bowing down before the good man and the
wafer. It was observed to our expounder that
this miracle had been explained, by saying some
grain had been put into a cavity, which the
hungry beasts could not reach without kneeling.
That, said he,is a lie.
5. Two of the largest paintings are devoted
to the greatest of his miracles: Preaching in
Pavia, he stopped suddenly in his sermon, and,
agreeably to ancient practice, requested his
congregation to repeat a short oration or prayer.
In the mean time he leaned down in the act of
meditation. So he appeared to his audience,
but in reality he had left the church. Our
Lady had made known to him that his father
had been arrested in Portugal for murder, and
was at that moment on his way to the gallows.
By her aid he arrived before the rope was passed
round his parents neck, and, as the pictures
show him, stopped the posse, consisting of the
judge, sheriW hangman, and crowd. The mur-
dered man was in his coffin close by, and on
him the saint called. The corpse obeyed the
mandate, threw off the cover of the shell, sat up
in it, and proclaimed aloud the innocence of the
accused. Antony saluted his father and re-
turned instantly to Pavia; arriving as the con-
gregation finished the brief prayer, he raised his
head and concluded his discourse without his
absence having been suspected.
Our reverend commentator was in his ele-
ment. He dwelt with pleasing unction on a
dozen or two more. Several had an irresistible
influence over the muscles of our mouths; and
the negro, who had come in again, exposed.everi-
molar and incisor in his head, nor could the
Father himself always keep his own eye-teeth
out of sight. With charming naYvet~ he said
to H , These stories can do no harm. If
all are not true, most of them are.
The Vestry is a splendid room, paved with
red and white mosaics. The ceiling is paneled
and covered with rich paintings by an old negro
slave. The walls, for four or five feet up, are
cased with painted blue and white tiles, illus-
trating the life of the saint, and the rest with
paintings on the same fruitful subject. The
carvings of bureaus and round the doors, in
high relieg are very superior. The Lavatory
occupies an adjoining room. In the centre is a
marble basin, shell-shaped, eight feet over, and
from it rises a column, at whose angles invert-
ed dolphins deliver the water; the whole sur-
mounted by a draped female statue of Puritas,
some twelve feet from the floor.
Having obtained permission to show us the
library, our cicerone led us up stairs to a large
room overlooking a great part of the city and
the bay. When the door was unlocked and
thrown open, what a blast of damp and mildew
came out! Pausing till fresh air could stream
in, we spent an hour or two among the books
and admiring the ancient furniture. Here are
between five and six thousand volumes. Heavy
tomes on Canon Law, Monastic Orders, Mira-
cles of Saints, History of Byzantium, Works of
the Fathers, etc. The only English book was
a life of Milton. With the pxception of a work
on magic, I did not see a volume of special in-
terest; nor did I open one whose leaves were
not glued together by damp, and of which large
portions had not been devoured by ants. In a
few years the whole will have perished.
Tile Saint as a SoldierWhen the Royal
family arrived from Portugal in 1808, Antony
was only Captain of Infantrythe same office
held by him in Lisbon; but before returning to
Europe, John VI. raised him to a Lieutenant-
Colonelcy on the staW to the great displeasure
of older officers, who bitterly complained of the
promotion as a violation of all military rule.
Besides his salary of 960 milreis as Lieutenant-
Colonel, he appears in other grades in the army
list, and receives pay and rations accordingly
for services in other provinces. I extracted the
following from the National Budget for the
present year, from the Pension List:
Milrei.
San Antonio da Goyas . . . . Granted Nov. 18, 1T50, 192
de Minas, by royal mand. Feb. 26, 1199, 480
do Mouraria . . Granted Sept. 5, 1800, 120
da Parahiba . . Dec. 10, 1809, 75
Besides these, I am told that he figures in other
characters as a creditor on the public ledgers.
As the whole affair was strange to me, I in-
quired how the money was paid, to whom, and
how disposed of. The answer was, that here, 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
in Rio, the abbot of his monastery receives it,
and expends it on the Saints person, on his
clothes, washing, and ornaments, wages for his
servants, and other expenses of his establish-
ment. To silence my scruples, I was furnished
with a copy of his receipt for his last months
salary, signed three days ago. A literal trans-
lation is subjoined:
Pap this, LIEUT.-COLoNEL.
BAOTos. No. 5433.
Received from the illustrious Lieut.-Colonel
Manoel Josi Alvas da Fonseca, Treasurer and Paymaster-
General of the troops of this Capital, the sum of Eighty
snllreis, being the amount of Pay due for the month of
May last to the Glorious Saint Antony, as Lient-Colonel
iu the army.
To manifest the same, I sign this receipt.
Noted Folio 6, Father Miguel do Santa Rita,
LucA. Superior.
Rio do Janeiro, June 15, 1846.
Paid, Joiso Cactano dAlmeida Franga,
ALvss. Ex Syndic Procurator.
dntony as a Saisst.To impress me with his
manifold virtues in this character, a pious lady
loaned me a small volume, Compendio de Ora-
eSes. Lisbon, 1814. In the Week of Love to
St. Antony, the form of address on Mondays is
Oh, my Saint Antony! Wonder of wonders!
Credit to Omnipotence! Model of humility V
Mystic Doctor! I offer thee two Ave-Marias,
and supplicate thee to ask the baby Jesus in thy
arms, the virtue of humility. On other days,
devotees use the following: Oh, St. Antony!
freasurer of Italy! Precious Stone of Poverty!
human Angel! Prince of Heaven! Sun of the
World! Atlantes of Virtue! Star of Spain and
Portugal! Wonder of Nature! Brilliant Sun
of Padua! Doctor of Truth! Trumpet of Heav-
en! Hammerer of Heretics! Abyss of Sanctity!
Rule of Perfection! Column of the Catholic
Church! Honor of the Seraphic Religion, and
most Beloved of Glory! I offer thee thirty-six
Ave-Marias in honor of the thirty-six years dur-
ing which thou practiced so many miracles
Again: Do we look for miracles? St. An-
tony makes death, sin, sorrow, errors, and dev-
ils flee away. He is a prompt medicine for
every disease. He takes ns out of prison, de-
livers us from pains, and all lost things iso finds.
Perils he hanishes, and to every one gives suc-
cor. Padua confesses all this. Pray for ns,
Good Antony !
Another passageif the reader is, not out of
breathexplains why he is represented with a
child. Oh, glorious St. Antony! who merited
to receive from the hands of the Mother of God
her only baby into thine arms ! This was the
highest of honors. No other saint received such
a mark of favor. It is, moreover, said there
was much trouble to get the infant from him,
so unwilling he was to give it np: hence it is
the common practice of his worshipers here,
when they get out of patience with him for de-
laying to comply with their wishes, to threaten
to take the baby from him. Nothing, a devout
lady says, is more effectual than such a threat.
Intimating that Nossa Senhora, at the time
Antony lived, had no baby to put into his arms,
I was told she, by miracle, made one for the
purpose!
As the restorer of lost things, Antony is con-
stantly appealed to in the cases of runaway
slaves, stray horses, mules, and stolen furniture
of every description. Senhora P has great
devotion for him. She carries his picture in
her bosom, and, like thousands here, keeps an
image of him in her house. Not a day passes
without her addressing him, I took the liberty
to ask what she wanted him to do for her now?
She had lost a silver spoon! To convince me
that he was a very miraculous saint, she men-
tioned that he had sent one of her mothers
slaves back after a long absence, and how a
valuable one of her own had ran off and been
forced to return. This last confessed that the
tortured image of the Saint used to appear and
tell him he must return.
The treatment of Antony is peculiar to him.
When other saints do not comply with requests
preferred to them, resignation is a duty; while
in such cases he is scourged, bruised, abused,
and tormented in every imaginable manner;
and, what is strange, this is said to he agree-
able to him! The measures adopted by Senhora
P were such as her mother had recourse to.
She took Antonya figure, about the length of
one s hand, of pottery, but more commonly of
plaster of Parisplaced a lighted candle before
him, and besought him to send the fugitive
home, and to mind and give him no rest till he
returned. A week elapsed, and he came not;
another and another passed away, and still no
tidings of him. She then took the Saint, laid
him, with his face downward, on the floor be-
hind the door, and put a heavy stone upon him,
that there might be no intermission, as in flag-
ellations, of his pains. I asked, Why treat
him so severely ? Then came the stereotyped
story: St. Antony wished to he a martyr, but as
Our Lady did not permit him to have that honor,
he loves to be afflicted in his representatives,
and very often will not listen to his friends until
they are tormented. As soon as the fugitive
was recovered, the load was removed from the
hack of the little sufferer; he was washed, put
on a covered table, two candles lit before him,
and the best thanks of the lady presented with
a courtesy.
It is common with some to put the uncomply-
ing Saint into ovens, and throw him into ash-
pits,. and never to take him out except to thank
him, or to chastise him; but the most general
punishment is consignment to a dark and wet
prison. Every house in Rio has a shallow well or
cistern in the yard of brackish water rising within
a few feet of the surface. In these the Saint is
immured. So. common is it to put St. Antony
into the well, that the expression is proverbial
for having lost something. H says he had
a slave who ran off, and was caught and re-
turned in a few weeks. On communicating the
news of the recovery of the fugitive to his fam-
ily, his wife led him to the small well in the
yard, and opening the cover, showed him An- SKETCHES IN BRAZIL. 45
tony suspended by a cord just over the water.
She had placed him there soon after the slave
was missing. Of course he was drawn up, like
Jeremiah out of the pit, and complimented with
thanks, and a couple of candles, and the slave
reminded how useless were attempts to escape
~the vigilance of this heavenly negro-catcher.
There is no doubt whatever that many slaves
are recovered by means of the Saint, singular as
the remark may appear. The tortured image,
like one of their native idols, haunts their im-
aginations, and constant dread of some terrible
evil befalling them, compels, especially those re-
cently imported, to return.
Great numbers of six and seven-inch An-
tonys are destroyed by angry devotees. I heard
of disappointed lottery speculators hewing them,
like Agag, in pieces; others throwing them into
the fire during the prevalence of rage; so that
if the Saint did not seal the truth with his blood
as he desired, scarcely one of his representatives
escapes being martyred.
A few days ago an advertisement of a lost
ass appeared in the Journal, a daily paper.
The animal had been taken from a garden be-
longing to the monastery of Saint Antony, and
a reward was offered for its recovery; so that
it would seem while he recovers other peoples
lost cattle, he can not find his ownat all events,
that his friars have more faith in newspapers
than in him.
Both the monks and the institution are un-
popular. Of several recent law-suits they have
not succeeded in one. A house is being erected
by a private individual on ground claimed by
them. They have protested against the intru-
sion, but that is all. Some time ago, a similar
outrage induced the abbot to appeal to the
Government. Carneiro Leon, an enlightened
statesman, was Secretary of State. After hear-
ing the complainant he replied, Well, we dont
want monks, and the Government itself wants
the convent grounds. The frighted father fled
perhaps to appeal to Antony? No, no,
said a native friend, friars know better; they
tell simpletons to do that.
Besides real estate, their means are swelled
by bequests, proceeds of blessed prints, scap-
ularies, medals, money for masses, and for con-
secrated habits for those who desire to be buried
in thema superstition quite common. Men,
women, children, and youths, being frequently
entombed in the garbs of monks and nunsthe
wealthy paying high prices for them.
Underneath the little pictures of Antony dis-
tributed to his devotees, is engraved the fol-
lowing: His Excellency the most reverend
Bishop of Rio, and Grand Chaplain to the Em-
peror, Don Manoel do Monte Rodriques dArau-
jo, on visiting the church, whose patron saint is
represented by this image, grants to all those who
repeat, before this image, one Pater Noster and
one Ave Maria, forty days of indulgences. 1842.
AJTJDA NUNNERY AND NUNS.
ON reaching the foot of the hill we observed,
VOL. XI.No. 61.D
on the opposite side of the street, one of the
heavy doors of the Ajuda Convent open, and
stepped into a paved area around which the dark
walls arise. Of the two tiers of windows the
lowest is fifteen feet from the ground, and all
inclosed with massive gratings that remind one
of the condemned cells of Newgate. At the
side furthest from the street is the apparatus by
which persons without communicate with the
interior. I had read of the ancient device. A
rectangular ope1~ing, about four feet high and
two and a half wide, is cut through the thick
wall, the upright edges being worked concave.
A strong wooden cylinder or drum is made to
revolve vertically in the opening, and to occupy~-~
it wholly. Suppose the staves of the cylinder
be removed for one-third of its circumference,
you have then a revolving cupboard, into which
any article put in at one side of the wall is in-
stantly received at the other on simply pushing
round the opening, and without either sender
or receiver having a chance to get a glimpse of
each other. The sides of the drum enter the
concave sides of the wall, and its bottom and
top extend within the stone work. The width
of the opening into the drum is only half the
thickness of the wall; so that in no position of
the drum can a spectator see any one within.
While we stood by a negro brought a parcel,
put it in the closet, clapped his hands as a sig-
nal, and turned the dumb waiter half-way round.
Thus money, letters, food, and all articles re-
quired are passed within. If sweetmeats have
been ordered by friends or visitors, the price is
put on the shelf and the next moment the bon-
bons come out.
We strolled to the further extremity of the
same side of the Square, where there was a sim-
ilar machine, and near it a strong door with a
small brass plate, full of minute holes, through
which the invisible abbess, or her deputies, can
see who stands without. Casually touching this
door it yielded to slight pressure. Here was a
temptation to step into a nunnery; for none but
our two selves were within the spacious area.
To have some color for pushing the hinged
valve back, one of us gently knocked. No one
answered, but some object behind moderately
opposed its being opened. By little and little
the opening was enlarged, and our courage with
it. We squeezed in, when my companion, in a
whisper, said, This is the officeof the portress.
She has left for a moment, and, not dreaming
of intruders, placed her old, high-backed chair
against the door. Shell return anon, and will
give the alarm if she find us here I
But the way into the interior was not so clear
as we imagined; still, we got a view of the ma-
chinery adopted in such places to prevent in-
trusion and desertion. The small apartment
opened into a large, long, and, verily, a strong
one. A paved floor, high whitewashe.d walls
with nothing to break their monotony, or let in
light, that we could see, save a single opening,
eight feet square, and level with the ground.
This communicated with a wide and dim pas 46 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
sage into which we could not get; for there was
no entering the large opening in front of which
we stood. The stone wall through which it is
cut is four feet thick, and on each side hangs a
gauze curtain whose threads are inch bars of
iron: those forming the woof pass through loops
in the warp, and the ends of all are buried in
the granite blocks. The interstitial spaces are
between three and four inches. A rather larger
aperture is at the bottom, and through it small
things are passed across on the blade of a wood-
en shovel, as appeared from one lying ready for
the purpose.
If, as is said, nuns are happy in their cells,
for what purpose then, in lands where law pre-
vails, are these massive walls, gratings, bolts,
locks, and other devices? Even shackles, it is
admitted, are not wanting in this place. No
felon-prison can have a better system of securi-
ties. What alliance can there be between the
gentle, willing spirit of the Gospel and so much
iron? Penal statutes suffice to prevent people
from breaking in; what need of such devices,
if not designed to keep those confined from
breaking out? These thoughts I addressed to
my companion, who said I might stay till the
doorkeeper returned and ask her. In two min-
utes more we were in the street. Through
what passage she had disappeared, after block-
ing her door, we could not imagine.
This was the first and last time I got into a
nunnery. Into the chapel fronting the street I
often stepped.
There is no entering ecclesiastical institutions
here without being reminded of their heathen
originals, and of the little change they have
undergone. Every popular phase of ancient
worship was early adopted. Rituals of the tem-
ples, and the temples themselves; the different
orders of priests, and their imposing costumes;
the entire system of symbolism; of praying
through the medium of images and other phys-
ical representations; praying for the dead, and
to the dead. The various religious orders, too,
including mendicant and monastic, are of pa-
gan parentage, with all their peculiarities of
dress and disciplinetheir shaven crowns, knot-
ted cords, relics, rosaries, and squalor.
The institution of Vestals was reverenced at
Rome. Numa, the Consuls, and the Emperors
patronized them; the rich made presents; the
pious bequeathed legacies; and the superstitious
sought admission for their daughters. Command-
ing general respect, they were introduced, under
Christian appellations, into the Church. Sub-
stituting the Virgin for Vesta, the old rules,
penalties, peculiarities, etc., seem to have been
received without material revision, and also the
plans, arrangements, securities, general econo-
my, and management of the nunneries.
The cloistered virgins of the Ajuda pass their
lives in much the samq way as their sisters of
antiquityseparated from the world, from pa-
rental and family influence, dedicated to a god-
dess Nossa Senhora da Ajuda, donning a par-
ticular habit, their initiation accompanied by~
cutting off their hair, vowing chastity, and sub-
ject to death for its violation, strictly secluded,
extraordinary means employed to prevent their
communicating without the walls that inclose
them, under the surveillance of a matron and
a system of espionage that sifts out their very
thoughts, subject to the control and punish-
ment of the bishop, no male persons allowed to
visit them except those interested in retaining
them, and permitted to hold free converse with
none else.
The Pontifex Maximus chastised pagan nuns
for offenses, and his modern representative does
the same thing. If Christian nuns are not
now put to death for violating their vows, they
once were; and but for the increasing intel-
ligence of the age, would undoutedly be again.
The inmates of nunneries, it is asserted, are
happy even those who enter reluctantly be-
come reconciled and content. Here are a few
Rio facts in illustration.
1. H told me he was acquainted with
four sisters, all of whom were forced by one or
both parents, into the Tereza Convent. Years
elapsed, and the father died, when three, all
that were alive, by appealing to the Pope, event-
ually got out.
2. A merchant, whom he also knew well,
took an only daughter out one day a-visiting.
The carriage stopped at the Ajuda Convent.
The young lady tripped up the three or four
outer steps without observing the place, the
doors closed on her, and her parent drove off.
She had refused a husband selected for her,
and was immured two years before she yielded
her consent and was let out.
3. A poor woman, with a slight peculiarity
of manner, is occasionally seen in the Cattete.
She passed the window twice yesterday. Sis-
ter Paula and her melancholy history are known
to many families in the Gloria parish.
Of respectable lineage, she was born and
brought up in the country. Amiable and intel-
ligent, she unfortunately became rich in her
own right on the death of her mother. Her
father and brothers coveted her wealth, and
found means to gain over the abbess of the
Ajuda. A chest, perforated to adTnit air, was
provided by the unnatural villains, and in it
the poor victim was hurried from her residence
(some leagues distant from Rio) to the con-
vent. She resisted all attempts made to force
her to take the vail, and in a long course of
years managed to escape three times, but im-
plored in vain, with a heart bursting with an-
guish, for mercy from her kindred. The last
time it was her brothers who drove her hack,
the father being dead. Nature at length gave
way. The punishments to which on these oc-
casions she was subjectedchastisement, want
of food, shackles, and other tortures, known only
to the fiends that inflicted thembroke her
down. Reason fled, and she became irrevoca-
bly insane. Her persecutors took undisturbed
possession of her property; and some, it is said,
still enjoy itif, indeed, they can enjoy it orTHE NEWCOMES.
a.ny thing else. Of her, they know nothing. A
nun has neither worldly relations nor wealth.
Every thing, even her name, is taken from her,
and all natural ties are forever sundered.
The abbess permitted herimprudently, as
many thinkto go at large. She is over fifty.
Her disease is of a mild type. For several
years she has made out, by charity and her
needle, to hire a room and huy the little food
she wants. She constructs wax and feather
flowers, makes haby saints, and assists in
dressing images for the festivals. Dwelling
near the Lapa Church, she is employed every
Christmas to fit up in it the Cradle and the
Baby God. All churches have, at that sea-
son, an exhibition of this kind. Most have new
bed-clothes and dresses; but some have the old
ones furbished up and used again. Sister Paula
sometimes quarrels with the brotherhood, and
loses an order to dress Our Lady and her Son.
At lucid intervals she will speak with a few con-
fidential friends of the inhuman treatment of
her brothers and the abbess. At other times
she says an evil spirit possesses her one too
strong for the friars of St. Antony to drive
out. Poor lady! she is right. Hers is a
wounded spirit, which requires a higher power
than that of any dead or living saint to heal.
4. Senhor L a., of the Larangeims, Ex-
Councilor of State, has an aged relative in the
Ajuda Conventa first cousin to his mother.
She has at present charge of the garden, which
is as much concealed from the public as the in-
terior of the building. Having been abbess,
she is known as Zlfother Anna Tereza. This
venerable lady was ia her youth one of the
handsomest girls of Rio. She formed an at-
tachment which her father did not approve of,
although her lover was every way worthy of
her. By the influence of her parents he was
shipped off to India, and she carried directly to
an endless imprisonment in the awful Ajuda.
Distracted beyond endurance, for months horror
and despair preyed on her: she was tempted to
end her miseries by suicide. A year passed
overanother, and others, till her soul, crushed
by griefs, yielded to her fate. Urged to take
the vail, she consented; but ere the ceremonies
were quite over she awoke as from a lethargy
artificially produced, and burst into such a tor-
rent of abuse of her parents and family, who
were witnessing the rite, the abbess, convent,
and the whole system of ecclesiastical fraud and
tyranny, that for a moment all stood aghast!
And but for a moment! It was evident she was
possessed! Under this belief she was gagged,
borne off to her cell, confined by cords, and pun-
ished no one living knows how but herself!
Time, that subdues all things, at last tamed
her. Forever excluded from the world, and
without a friend, relative, or acquaintance in it
to her all was lostshe consented to live and
adapt herself to her hard lot. She became a
favorite, and was twice selected abbess, which
office she has filled for eight years (an election
takes place every four years). Let us hope that
the victims sent in under her administration
were differently treated than she had been.
It must not be supposed that the law could
interfere. No civil officer could (nor can) enter
a convent to serve process there; and under the
old regime a father had unlimited power over
his daughters. The only redress was: 1. Through
the bishop; but while the abbess was in col-
lusion with parents, the victim might wear her
fingers to the bone in writing petitions before
one could reach him. Not a scrap can enter
or pass out without her consent. 2. The bishop
had to appeal to Lisbon; and, 3. Through the
ecclesiastical authorities there, the Court at
Rome had to be consulted.
In the second volume of Transactions of
the Geographical and Historical Institute & f
Brazil, is a notice of Don Francisco de San
Jeronimo, the founder of this convent. A holy
man, he wrought miracles; two are cited: When
coming over from Lisbon the ship took fire; he
prayed to God and Our Lady, and instantly the
flames went out. A favorite servant became
diseased in his legs, and, after trying several
methods of cure, the doctors proposed amputa-
tation. On hearing this, the Saint prayed over
the sickly members, and they became sound ere
he rose from his knees.
THE NEWCOMES.*
MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY.
av w. M. THAcKERAY.
CHAPTER LVIII.
onz szoaz ITNFOILT1JNATE.
THE Fates did not ordain that the plan should
succeed which Lord Highgates friends had
devised for Lady Claras rescue or respite. He
was bent upon one more interview with the un-
fortunate lady; and in that meeting the future
destiny of their luckless lives was decided. On
the morning of his return home, Barnes New-
come had information that Lord Highgate, un-
der a feigned name, had been staying in the
neighborhood of his house; and had repeatedly
been seen in the company of Lady Clara. She
may have gone out to meet him but for one
hour more. She had taken no leave of her chil-
dren on the day when she left her home, and,
far from making preparations for her own de-
parture, had been engaged in getting the house
ready for the reception of members of the fam-
ily, whose arrival her husband announced as
speedily to follow his own. Ethel and Lady
Ann and some of the children were coming.
Lord Farintoshs mother and sisters were to
follow. It was to be a r~union previous to the
marriage which was closer to unite the two fam-
ilies. Lady Clara said Yes to her husbands
orders; rose mechanically to obey his wishes
and arrange for the reception of the guests;
and spoke tremblingly to the housekeeper as
her husband gibed at her. The little ones had
been consigned to bed early and before Sir
Barness arrival. He did not think fit to see
* Continued from the May Number.

W. M. ThackerayThackeray, W. M.The Newcomes47-64

THE NEWCOMES.
a.ny thing else. Of her, they know nothing. A
nun has neither worldly relations nor wealth.
Every thing, even her name, is taken from her,
and all natural ties are forever sundered.
The abbess permitted herimprudently, as
many thinkto go at large. She is over fifty.
Her disease is of a mild type. For several
years she has made out, by charity and her
needle, to hire a room and huy the little food
she wants. She constructs wax and feather
flowers, makes haby saints, and assists in
dressing images for the festivals. Dwelling
near the Lapa Church, she is employed every
Christmas to fit up in it the Cradle and the
Baby God. All churches have, at that sea-
son, an exhibition of this kind. Most have new
bed-clothes and dresses; but some have the old
ones furbished up and used again. Sister Paula
sometimes quarrels with the brotherhood, and
loses an order to dress Our Lady and her Son.
At lucid intervals she will speak with a few con-
fidential friends of the inhuman treatment of
her brothers and the abbess. At other times
she says an evil spirit possesses her one too
strong for the friars of St. Antony to drive
out. Poor lady! she is right. Hers is a
wounded spirit, which requires a higher power
than that of any dead or living saint to heal.
4. Senhor L a., of the Larangeims, Ex-
Councilor of State, has an aged relative in the
Ajuda Conventa first cousin to his mother.
She has at present charge of the garden, which
is as much concealed from the public as the in-
terior of the building. Having been abbess,
she is known as Zlfother Anna Tereza. This
venerable lady was ia her youth one of the
handsomest girls of Rio. She formed an at-
tachment which her father did not approve of,
although her lover was every way worthy of
her. By the influence of her parents he was
shipped off to India, and she carried directly to
an endless imprisonment in the awful Ajuda.
Distracted beyond endurance, for months horror
and despair preyed on her: she was tempted to
end her miseries by suicide. A year passed
overanother, and others, till her soul, crushed
by griefs, yielded to her fate. Urged to take
the vail, she consented; but ere the ceremonies
were quite over she awoke as from a lethargy
artificially produced, and burst into such a tor-
rent of abuse of her parents and family, who
were witnessing the rite, the abbess, convent,
and the whole system of ecclesiastical fraud and
tyranny, that for a moment all stood aghast!
And but for a moment! It was evident she was
possessed! Under this belief she was gagged,
borne off to her cell, confined by cords, and pun-
ished no one living knows how but herself!
Time, that subdues all things, at last tamed
her. Forever excluded from the world, and
without a friend, relative, or acquaintance in it
to her all was lostshe consented to live and
adapt herself to her hard lot. She became a
favorite, and was twice selected abbess, which
office she has filled for eight years (an election
takes place every four years). Let us hope that
the victims sent in under her administration
were differently treated than she had been.
It must not be supposed that the law could
interfere. No civil officer could (nor can) enter
a convent to serve process there; and under the
old regime a father had unlimited power over
his daughters. The only redress was: 1. Through
the bishop; but while the abbess was in col-
lusion with parents, the victim might wear her
fingers to the bone in writing petitions before
one could reach him. Not a scrap can enter
or pass out without her consent. 2. The bishop
had to appeal to Lisbon; and, 3. Through the
ecclesiastical authorities there, the Court at
Rome had to be consulted.
In the second volume of Transactions of
the Geographical and Historical Institute & f
Brazil, is a notice of Don Francisco de San
Jeronimo, the founder of this convent. A holy
man, he wrought miracles; two are cited: When
coming over from Lisbon the ship took fire; he
prayed to God and Our Lady, and instantly the
flames went out. A favorite servant became
diseased in his legs, and, after trying several
methods of cure, the doctors proposed amputa-
tation. On hearing this, the Saint prayed over
the sickly members, and they became sound ere
he rose from his knees.
THE NEWCOMES.*
MEMOIRS OF A MOST RESPECTABLE FAMILY.
av w. M. THAcKERAY.
CHAPTER LVIII.
onz szoaz ITNFOILT1JNATE.
THE Fates did not ordain that the plan should
succeed which Lord Highgates friends had
devised for Lady Claras rescue or respite. He
was bent upon one more interview with the un-
fortunate lady; and in that meeting the future
destiny of their luckless lives was decided. On
the morning of his return home, Barnes New-
come had information that Lord Highgate, un-
der a feigned name, had been staying in the
neighborhood of his house; and had repeatedly
been seen in the company of Lady Clara. She
may have gone out to meet him but for one
hour more. She had taken no leave of her chil-
dren on the day when she left her home, and,
far from making preparations for her own de-
parture, had been engaged in getting the house
ready for the reception of members of the fam-
ily, whose arrival her husband announced as
speedily to follow his own. Ethel and Lady
Ann and some of the children were coming.
Lord Farintoshs mother and sisters were to
follow. It was to be a r~union previous to the
marriage which was closer to unite the two fam-
ilies. Lady Clara said Yes to her husbands
orders; rose mechanically to obey his wishes
and arrange for the reception of the guests;
and spoke tremblingly to the housekeeper as
her husband gibed at her. The little ones had
been consigned to bed early and before Sir
Barness arrival. He did not think fit to see
* Continued from the May Number. 48 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
them in their sleep; nor did their mother. She
did not know, as the poor little creatures left
her room in charge of their nurses, that she
looked on them for the rast time. Perhaps,
had she gone to their bedsides that evening,
had the wretched panic-stricken soul heen al-
lowed leisure to pause, and to think, and to
pray, the fate of the morrow might have been
othen ise, and the trembling balance of the
scale have inclined to rights side. But the
pause was not allowed her. Her husband came
and saluted her with his accustomed greetings
of scorn, and sarcasm, and brutal insult. On a
future day he never dared to call a servant of
his household to testify to his treatment of her;
though twenty were in attendance to prove his
cruelty and her terror. On that very last night,
Lady Claras maid, a country girl from her fa-
thers house at Chanticlere, told Sir Barnes in
the midst of a conjugal dispute, that her lady
might bear his conduct but she could not, and
that she would no longer live under the roof of
such a brute. The girls interference was not
likely to benefit her mistress much: the wretch-
ed Lady Clara passed the last night under the
roof of her husband and children, unattended
save by this poor domestic who was about to
leave her, in tears and hysterical outcries, and
then in moaning stupor. Lady Clara put to
sleep with laudanum, her maid carried down
the story of her wrongs to the servants quar-
ters; and half a dozen of them took in their
resignation to Sir Barnes as he sat over his
breakfast the next morningin his ancestral
hallsurrounded by the portraits of his august
forefathersin his happy home.
Their mutiny of course did not add to their
masters good-humor; and his letters brought
him news which increased Barness fury. A
messenger brought him a letter from his man
of business at Neweome, upon the receipt of
which he started up with such an execration as
frightened the servant waiting on him, and let-
ter in hand he ran to Lady Claras sitting-room.
Her ladyship was up. Sir
Barnes breakfasted rather
late on the first morning
afteran arrival at Neweome.
He had to look over the
bailiffs books, and to look
about him round the park
and grounds; to curse the
gardeners; to damn the sta-
ble and kennel grooms; to
yell at the woodman for
clearing not enough or too
much; to rail at the poor
old work-people brooming
away the fallen leaves, etc.
So Lady Clara was up and
dressed when her husband
went to her room, which lay
at the end of the house as
we have said, the last of a
suite of ancestral halls.
The mutinous servant
heard high voice and curses within; then Lady
Claras screams; then SirBarnes Newcome burst
out of the room, locking the door and taking
the key with him, and saluting with more curses
James, the mutineer, over whom his master ran.
Curse your wife, and dont curse me, Sir
Barnes Newcome I said James, the mutineer,
and knocked down a hand which the infuriated
Baronet raised against him with an arm that
was thrice as strong as Barness own. This
man and maid followed their mistress in that sad
journey upon which she was bent. They treat-.
ed her with unalterable respect. They never
could be got to see that her conduct was wrong.
When Barness counsel subsequently tried to
impugn their testimony, they dared him; and
hurt the plaintiffs case very much. For the
balance had weighed over; and it was Barnes
himself who caused what now ensued; and
what we learned in a very few hoins afterward
from Newcome, where it was the talk of the
whole neighborhood.
Florac and I, as yet ignorant of all that was
occurring, met Barnes near his own lodge-gate
riding in the direction of Neweome, as we were
ourselves returning to Rosebury. The Prince
de Moncontour, who was driving, affably saluted
the Baronet, who gave us a scowling recogni-
tion, and rode on, his groom behind him. The
figure of this gar~on, says Florac, as our ac-
quaintance passed, is not agreeable. Of pale,
he has become livid. I hope these two men
will not meet, or evil will come I Evil to Barnes
there might be, Floracs companion thought, who
knew the previous little affairs between Barnes
and his uncle and cousin; and that Lord High-
gate was quite able to take care of himself.
In half an hour after Florac spoke, that meet-
ing between Barnes and Highgate actually had
taken placein the open square of Neweome,
within four doors of the Kings Arms Inn, close
to which lives Sir Barnes Newcomes man of
business; and before which, Mr. Harris, as he
was called, was walking, and waiting till a car- THE NEWCOMES. 49
riage, which he had ordered, came round from
the inn yard. As Sir Barnes Newcome rode
into the place many people touched their hats
to him, however little they loved him. He was
howing and smirking to one of these, when he
suddenly saw Belsize.
He started hack, causing his horse to hack
with him on to the pavement, and it may have
heen rage and fury, or accident and nervous-
ness merely, hut at this instant Barnes New-
come, looking toward Lord Highgate, shook his
whip.
You cowardly villain ! said the other, spring-
ing forward. I was going to your house.
How dare you, Sir, cries Sir Barnes, still
holding up that unlucky cane, how dare you
toto
Dare, you scoundrel ! said Belsize. Is
that the cane you strike your wife with, you
ruffian I Belsize seized and tore him out of
the saddle, flinging him screaming down on the
pavement. The horse, rearing and making way
for himself, galloped down the clattering street;
a hundred people were ronnd Sir Barnes in a
moment.
The carriage which Belsize had ordered came
round at this very juncture. Amidst the crowd,
shrinking, hustlin~, expostulating, threatening,
who pressed ahout him, he shQuldered his way.
Mr. Taplow, aghast, was one of the hundred
spectators of the scene.
I am Lord Highgate, said Barness adver-
sary. If Sir Barnes Neweome wants me, tell
him I will send him word where he may hear
of me. And getting into the carriage, he told
the driver to go to the usual place.
Imagine the huhhuh in the town, the con-
claves at the inns, the talks in the counting- 50 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
houses, the commotion among the factory peo-
ple, the paragraphs in the Newcome papers,
the bustle of surgeons and lawyers, after this
event. Crowds gathered at the Kings Arms,
and waited round Mr. Speers, the lawyers house,
into which Sir Barnes was carried. In vain
policemen told them to move on; fresh groups
gathered after the seceders. On the next day,
when Barnes Newcome, who was not much
hurt, had a fly to go home, a factory man shook
his fist in at the carriage window, and, with a
curse, said, Serve you right, you villain. It
was the man whose sweetheart this Don Juan
had seduced and deserted years before; whose
wrongs were well known among his mates, a
leader in the chorus of hatred which growled
round Barnes Newcome.
Barness mother and sister Ethel had reached
Newcome an hour before the return of the mas-
ter of the house. The people there were in dis-
turbance. Lady Ann and Miss Newcome came
out with pallid looks to greet him. He laughed
and re-assured them about his accident: indeed
his hurt had been trifling; he had been bled by
the surgeon, a little jarred by the fall from his
horse; but there was no sort of danger. Still
their pale and doubtful looks continued. What
caused thcin? In the open day, with a servant
attending her, Lady Clara Newcome had left
her husbands house; and a letter was forwarded
to him that same evening from my Lord High-
gate, informing Sir Barnes Newcome that Lady
Clara Pulleyn could bear his tyranny no longer,
and had left his roof; that Lord Highgate pro-
posed to leave England almost immediately,
but would remain long enough to afford Sir
Barnes Newcome the opportunity for an inter-
view, in case he should be disposed to demand
one: and a friend (of Lord Highgates late regi-
ment) was named who would receive letters and
act in any way necessary for his lordship.
The dehates of the House of Lords must tell
what followed afterward in the dreary history
of Lady Clara Pulleyn. The proceedings in the
iNewcome Divorce Bill filled the usual number
~f columns in the papersespecially the Sun-
day papers. The witnesses were examined by
learned peers whose businessnay, pleasure
it seems to be to enter into such matters; and,
for the ends of justice and morality, doubtless,
the whole story of Barnes Newcomes house-
hold was told to the British public. In the
previous trial in the Court of Queens Bench,
how grandly Sergeant Rowland stood up for the
rights of British husbands! with what pathos
he depicted the conjugal paradise, the innocent
children prattlin~ round their happy parents,
the serpent, the destroyer, entering into that
Belgravian Eden; the wretched and deserted
husband alone by his desecrated hearth, and
calling for redress on his country! Rowland
wept freely during his noble harangue. At not
a shilling under twenty thousand pounds would
he estimate the cost of his clients injuries. The
jury was very much affected: the evening pa-
pers gave Rowlands address, in extenso, with
some pretty sharp raps at the aristocracy in
general. The Day, the principal morning
journal of that period, came out with a leading
article the next morning, in which every party
concerned and every institution was knocked
about. The disgrace of the peerage, the ruin
of the monarchy (with a retrospective view of
the well-known case of Gyges and Candaules),
the monstrosity of the crime, and the absurdity
of the tribunal and the punishment, were all
set forth in the terrible leading article of the
Day.
But when, on the next day, Sergeant Row-
land was requested to call witnesses to prove
that connubial happiness which he had depicted
so pathetically, he had none at hand.
Oliver, Q. C., now had his innings. A man,
a husband, and a father, Mr. Oliver could not
attempt to defend the conduct of his unfortu-
nate client; but if there could be any excuse
for such conduct, that excuse he was free to
confess the plaintiff had afforded, whose cruel-
ty and neglect twenty witnesses in court were
ready to proveneglect so outrageous, crnelty
so systematic, that he wondered the plaintiff
had not been better advised than to bring this
trial with all its degrading particulars to a pub-
lic issue. On the very day when the ill-omened
marriage took place, another victim of crnelty
had interposed as vainlyas vainly as Sergeant
Rowland himself interposed in Court to pre-
vent this case being made knownand with
piteous outcries, in the name of outraged neg-
lected woman, of castaway children pleading in
vain for bread, had besought the bride to pause,
and the bridegroom to look upon the wretched
beings who owed him life. Why had not Lady
Clara Pulleyns friends listened to that appeal?
And so on, and so on, between Rowland and
Oliver the battle waged fiercely that day. Many
witnesses were mauled and slain. Out of that
combat scarce any body came well, except the
two principal champions, Rowland, Sergeant,
and Oliver, Q. C. The whole country looked
on and heard the wretched story, not only of
Barness fault and Highgates fault, but of the
private piccadilloes of their suborned footmen
and conspiring housemaids. Mr. Justice C.
Sawyer charged the jury at great lengththose
men were respectable men and fathers of fami-
lies themselvesof course they dealt full meas-
ure to Lord Highgate for his delinquencies;
consoled the injured husband with immense
damages, and left him free to pursue the far-
ther steps for releasing himself altogether from
the tie, which had been bound with affecting
Episcopal benediction at St. Georges, Hanover
Square.
So Lady Clara flies from the custody of her
tyrant, but to what a rescue? The very man
who loves her, and gives her asylum, pities and
deplores her. She scarce dares to look out of
the windows of her new home upon the world,
lest it should know and reproach her. All the
sisterhood of friendship is cut off from her. If
she dares to go abroad she feels the sneer ofTHE NEWCOMES.
the world as she goes through it; and knows
that malice and scorn whisper behind her. Peo-
ple, as criminal hut undiscovered, make room
for her, as if her touch were pollution. She
knows she has darkened the lot and made
wretched the home of the man whom she loves
best; that his friends who see her, treat her
with but a doubtful respect; and the domestics
who attend her, with a suspicious obedience.
In the country lanes, or the streets of the
county town, neighbors look aside as the car-
riage passes in which she sits splendid and
lonely. Rough hunting companions of her hus-
bands come to her table; he is driven perforce
to the company of flatterers and men of in-
ferior sort; his equals, at least in his own home,
will not live with him. She would be kind,
perhaps, and charitable to the cottagers round
about her, but she fears to visit them lest they
too should scorn her. The clergyman who dis-
tributes her charities, blushes and looks awk-
ward on passing her in the village, if he should
be walking with his wife or one of his children.
Shall they go to the Continent, and set up a
grand house at Paris or at Florence? There
they can get society, but of what a sort! Our
acquaintances of BadenMadame Schlangen-
bad, and Madame de Cruchecass~e, and Mad-
ame dIvry, and Messrs. Loder, and Punter,
and Blackball, and Deuceace will come, and
dance, and flirt, and quarrel, and gamble, and
feast round about her; but what in common
with such wild people has this poor, timid,
shrinking soul? Even these scorn her. The
leers and laughter on those painted faces are
quite unlike her own sad countenance. She
has no reply to their wit. Their infernal gay-
ety scares her more than the solitude at home.
No wonder that her husband does not like home,
except for a short while in the hunting season.
No wonder that he is away all day; how can
he like a home which she has made so wretch-
ed? In the midst of her sorrow, and doubt,
and misery, a child comes to her: how she
clings to it! how her whole being, and hope,
and passion centres itself on this feeble in-
fant! ... but she no more belongs to our story:
with the new name she has taken, the poor
lady passes out of the history of the Neweomes.
If Barnes Newcomes children meet yonder
solitary lady, do they know her? If her once-
husband thinks upon the unhappy young creature
whom his cruelty drove from him, does his con-
science affect his sleep at night? Why should
Sir Barnes INewcome s conscience be more
squeamish than his countrys, which has put
money in his pocket for having trampled on the
poor weak young thing, and scorned her, and
driven her to ruin? When the whole of the ac-
counts of that wretched bankruptcy are brought
up for final audit, which of. the unhappy part-
ners shall be shown to be most guilty? Does
the Right Reverend Prelate who did the bene-
dictory business for Barnes and Clara his wife
repent in secret? Do the parents who pressed
the marriage, and the fine folks who signed the
book, and ate the breakfast, and applauded the
bridegrooms speech, feel a little ashamed? 0
Hymen Hymenate! The bishops, beadles, clergy,
pew-openers, and other officers of the temple
dedicated to Heaven under the invocation of
St. George, will officiate in the same place at
scores and scores more of such marriages: and
St. George of England may behold virgin after
virgin offered up to the devouring monster,
Mammon (with many most respectable female
dragons looking on)may see virgin after vir-
gin given away, just as in the Soldan of Baby-
lons time, but with never a champion to come
to the rescue!
CHAPTER LIX.
IN WelCH ~cuiaaas LOSES 131115E15.
ALTHOUGH the years of the Marquis of Far-
intosh were few, he had spent most of them in
the habit of command; and, from his childhood
upward, had been obeyed by all persons round
about him. As an infant he had hut to roar,
and his mother and nurses were as much fright-
ened as though he had been a Libyan lion.
What he willed and ordered was law among his
clan and family. When he thought fit, in the
fullness of time and the blooming pride of man-
hood, to select a spouse, and to elevate a mar-
chioness to his throne, no one dared gainsay
him. When he called upon his mother and
sisters, and their ladyships hangers-on and at-
tendants; upon his own particular kinsmen, led
captains, and toadies, to bow the knee and do
homage to the woman whom he delighted to
honor, those duteous subjects trembled and
obeyed; in fact, he thought that the position
of a Marchioness of Farintosh was, under heav-
en and before men, so splendid, that, had he
elevated a beggar-maid to that sublime rank,
the inferior world was bound to worship her.
So my lords lady-mother, and my lords sis-
ters, and his captains, and his players of bill-
iards, and the toadies of his august person, all
performed obeisance to his bride elect, and
never questioned the will of the young chieftain~
What were the private comments of the ladies
of the family we had no means of knowing;
but it may naturally be supposed that his lord-
ships gentlemen in waiting, Captain Henchman,
Jack Todhunter, and the rest, had many mis- 52 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
givings of their own respecting their patrons
change in life, and could not view without anx-
iety the advent of a mistress who might reign
over him and them, who might possibly not like
their company, and might exert her influence
over her husband to oust these honest fellows
from places in which they were very comfort-
able. The jovial rogues had the run of my
lords kitchen, stables, cellars, and cigar-boxes.
A new marchioness might hate hunting, smok-
ing, jolly parties, and toad-eaters in general, or
might bring into the house favorites of her own.
I am sure any kind-hearted man of the world
must feel for the position of these faithful,
doubtful, disconsolate vassals, and haven sym-
pathy for their rueful looks and demeanor as
they eye the splendid preparations for the en-
suing marriage, the grand furnitures sent to my
lords castles and houses, the magnificent plate
provided for his tablestables at which they
may never have a knife and fork; castles and
houses of which the poor rogues may never be
allowed to pass the doors.
When, then, the elopement in High Life,
which has been described in the previous pages,
burst upon the town in the morning papers, I
can fancy the agitation which the news occa-
sioned in the faithful bosoms of the generous
Todhunter and the attached Henchman. My
lord was not in his own house as yet. He and
his friends still lingered on in the little house
in May Fair, the dear little bachelors quarters,
where they had enjoyed such good dinners, such
good suppers, such rare doings, such ajolly time.
I fancy Hench coming down to breakfast and
reading the Morning Post. I imagine Tod
dropping in from his bedroom over the way,
and Hench handing the paper over to Tod, and
the conversation which ensued between those
worthy men. Elopement in high lifeexcite-
ment in Ncome, and flight of Lady Cl
Ncome, daughter of the late and sister of the
present Earl of Drking, with Lord Hgate;
personal rencontre between Lord Hgate and
Sir Bnes Ncome. Extraordinary discios-
nres. I say I can fancy Hench and Tod over
this awful piece of news.
Pretty news, aint it, Toddy ? says Hench-
man, looking up from a Perigord pie, which the
faithful creature is discussing.
Always expected it, remarks the other.
Any body who saw them together last season
must have known it. The chief himself spoke
of it to me.
Itll cut him up awfully when he reads it.
Is it in the Morning Post? He has the Post
in his bedroom. I know he has rung his bell:
I heard it. Bowman, has his lordship read his
paper yet?
Bowman, the valet, said, I believe you, he
have read his paper. When he read it, he
jumped out of bed and swore most awful. I
cut as soon as I could, continued Mr. Bowman,
who was on familiar, nay, contemptuous, terms
with the other two gei~tlemen.
Enough to make any man swear, says Tod
dy to Henchman; and both were alarmed in
their noble souls, reflecting that their chieftain
was now actually getting up and dressing him-
self; that he would speedily, and in the course
of nature, come down stairs; and then, most
probably, would begin swearing at them.
The most noble Mungo Malcolm Angus was
in an awful state of mind when, at length, he
appeared in the breakfast-room. Why the
dash do you make a tap-room of this ? he cries.
The trembling Henchman, who has begun to
smokeas he has done a hundred times before
in this bachelors hallflings his cigar into the
fire.
There you gonothing like it! Why dont
you fling some more in? You can get em at
Hudsons for five guineas a pound I bursts out
the youthful peer.
I understand why you are out of sorts, old
boy, says Henchman, stretching out his manly
hand. A tear of compassion twinkled in his
eyelid and coursed down his mottled cheek.
Cut away at old Frank, Farintosha fellow
who has been attached to you since before you
could speak. Its not when a fellows down,
and cut up, and rilednaturally riledas you
areI know you are, Marquis; its not then
that Im going to be angry with you. Pitch
into old Frank Henchmanhit away, my young
one. And Frank put himself into an attitude
as of one prepared to receive a pugilistic assault.
He bared his breast, as it were, and showed his
scars, and said, Strike ! Frank Henchman
was a florid toady. My uncle, Major Penden-
nis, has often laughed with me about the fellows
pompous flatteries and ebullient fidelity.
You have read this confounded paragraph ?
says the Marquis.
We 1~ave read it: and were deucedly cut up,
too, says Henchman, for your sake, my dear
boy.
I remembered what you said last year, Mar-
quis, cries Todhunter (not unadroitly). You,
yourself, pointed out, in this very room, I recol-
lect, at this very tablethat night Coralie and
the little Spanish dancer, and her mother supped
here, and there was a talk about Highgate
you, yourself, pointed out what was likely to
happen. I doubted it; for I have dined at the
Newcomes, and seen Highgate and her together
in society often. But though you are a younger
bird, you have better eyes than I haveand
you saw the thing at onceat once, dont you
remember? and Coralie said how glad she was,
because Si~Barnes ill-treated her friend. What
was the name of Coralies friend, Hench ?
How should I know her confounded name
Henchman briskly answers. What do I care
for Sir Barnes Newcome and his private affairs?
He is no friend of mine. I never said he was
a friend of mine. I never said I liked him.
Out of respect for the Chief here, I held my
tongue about him, and shall hold my tongue.
Have some of this p& t~, Chief? No! Poor
old boy. I know you havent got an appetite.
I know this news cuts you up. I say nothing, THE NEWCOMES. 53
and make no pretense of condolence; though I
feel for youand you know you can count on
old Frank Henchmandont you, Malcolm ?
And again he turns away to conceal his gallant
sensibility and generous emotion.
What does it matter to me ? bursts out the
Marquis, garnishing his conversation with the
usual expletives which adorned his eloquence
when he was strongly moved. Whnt do I care
for Barnes Neweome, and his confounded affairs
and family? I never want to see him again,
but in the light of a banker, when I go to the
City, where he keeps my account. I say, I
have nothing to do with him, or all the New-
comes under the sun. Why, one of them is a
painter, and will paint my dog, Eatcatcher, by
Jove! or my horse, or my groom, if I give him
the order. Do you think I care for any one of
the pack? Its not the fault of the Marchioness
of Farintosh that her family is not equal to tame.
Besides two others in England and Scotland, I
should like to know what family is? I tell you
what, Hench. I bet you five to two, t$iat before
an hour is over, my mother will be here, and
down on her knees to me, begging me to break
off this engagement.
And what will you do, Farintosh ? asks
Henchman, slowly. Will you break it off?
No 1 shouts the Marquis. Why shall I
break off with the finest girl in Englandand
the best-plucked one and the cleverest and
wittiest, and the most beautiful creature, by
Jove! that ever stepped, for no fault of hers,
and because her sister-in-law leaves her brother,
who I know treated her infernally? We have
talked this matter over at home before. I
wouldnt dine with the fellow; though he was
always askin~ me; nor meet, except just out
of civility, any of his confounded family. Lady
Ann is different. She is a lady, she is. She
is a good woman: and Kew is a most respect-
able man, though he is only a peer of George
III.s creation, and you should hear how be
speaks of Miss Newcome, though she refused
him. I should like to know who is to prevent
me marrying Lady Ann Newcomes daughter ?
~By Jove! you are a good-plucked fellow,
Farintoshgive Inc your hand, old boy, says
Henchman.
Heh! am I? You would have said, Give
me your hand, old boy, whichever way I de-
termined, Hench! I tell you, I aint intellect-
ual, and that sort of thing. But I know my
rank, and I know my place; and when a man
of my station gives his word, he sticks to it, Sir;
and my lady, and my sisters, may go on their
knees all round; and, by Jove! I wont flinch.
The justice of Lord Farintoshs views was
speedily proved by the appearance of his lord-
ships mother, Lady Glenlivat, whose arrival put
a stop to a conversation which Captain Francis
Henchman has often subsequently narrated.
She besought to see her son in terms so urgent,
that the young nobleman could not be denied
to his parent; and, no doubt, a long and inter-
esting interview took place, in which Lord Far-
intoshs mother passionately implored him to
break off a match upon which he was as reso-
lutely bent.
Was it a sense of honor, a longing desire to
possess this young beauty, and call her his own,
or a fierce and profound dislike to being balked
in any object of his wishes, which actuated the
young lord? Certainly he had borne, very phi-
losophically, delay after delay, which had taken
place in the devised union; and being quite
sure of his mistress, had not cared to press on
the marriage, but lingered over the dregs of his
bachelor cup complacently still. We all know
in what an affecting farewell he took leave of
the associates of his vie de garfon: the speeches
made (in both languages), the presents distrib-
uted, the tears and hysterics of some of the
guests assembled; the cigar-boxes given over to
this friend, the ~criu of diamonds to that, et
cutera, et cutera, et cutera. Dont we know?
If we dont it is not henchmans fault, who has
told the story of Farintoshs betrothals a thou-
sand and one times at his clubs, at the houses
where he is asked to dine, on account of his in-
timacy with the nobility, among the young men
of fashion, or no fashion, whom this two-bottle
Mentor, and burly admirer of youth, has since
taken upon himself to form. The farewell at
Greenwich was so affecting that all traversed
the cart, and took another farewell at Rich-
mond, where there was crying too, but it was
Eucharis cried because fair Calypso wanted to
tear her eyes out; and where not only Tele-
macbus (as was natural to his age), but Mentor
likewise, quaffed the wine-cup too freely. You
are virtuous, oh, reader! but there are still
cakes and ale. Ask henchman if there be
not. You will find him in the Park any after-
noon; he will dine with you if no better man
ask him in the interval. He will tell you story
upon story regarding young Lord Farintosh, and
his marriage, and what happened before his
marriage, and afterward; and he will sigh, weep
almost at some moments, as he narrates their
subsequent quarrel, and Farintoshs unworthy
conduct, and tells you how he formed that young
man. My uncle and Captain Henchman dis-
liked each other very much, I am sorry to say
sorry to add that it was very amusing to hear
either one of them speak of the other.
Lady Glenlivat, according to the Captain,
then, had no success in the interview with her
son; who, unmoved by the maternal tears, com-
mands, and entreaties, swore he would marry
Miss Newcome, and that no power on earth
should prevent him. As if trying to thwart
that man could ever prevent his having his
way ! ejaculated his quondam friend.
But on the next day, after ten thousand men
in clubs and coteries had talked the news over;
after the evening had repeated and improved
the delightful theme of our morning contem-
poraries ; after Calypso and Eucharis driving
together in the Park, and reconciled now, had
kissed their hands to Lord Farintosh, and made
him their complimentsafter a night of natural 54 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
doubt, disturbance, defiance, furyas men whis-
pered to each otber at tbe club where his lord-
ship dined, and at the theatre where he took
his recreationafter an awful time at breakfast,
in which Messrs. Bowman, valet, and Todhunter
and Henchman, captains of the Farintosh body-
guard, all got their share of kicks and growl-
ingbehold Lady Glenlivat came back to the
charge again; and this time with such force
that poor Lord Farintosh was shaken indeed.
Her ladyships ally was no other than Miss
Neweome herself; from whom Lord Farintoshs
mother received, by that days post, a letter,
which she was commissioned to read to her son:
DEAx MAn~u (wrote the young lady in her
firmest handwriting), Mamma is at this mo-
ment in a state of such grief and dismay at the
cruel misfortune and humiliation which has just
befallen our family, that she is really not able
to write to you as she ought, and this task, pain-
ful as it is, must be mine. Dear Lady Glenlivat,
the kindness and confidence which I have ever
received from you and yours, merit truth, and
most grateful respect and regard from me. And
I feel after the late fatal occurrence, what I
have often and often owned to myself though I
did not dare to acknowledge it, that I ought to
release Lord F. at once and forever, from an en-
gagement which he could never think of maintain-
ing with a family so unfortunate as ours. I thank
him with all my heart for his goodness in bear-
ing with my humors so long; if I have given
him pain, as I know I have sometimes, I beg his
pardon, and would do so on my knees. I hope
and pray he may be happy, as I feared he never
could be with me. lie has many good and no-
ble qualities; and, in bidding him farewell, I
trust I may retain his friendship, and that he
will believe in the esteem and gratitude of your
most sincere ETHEL NEwcoME.
A copy of this farewell letter was seen by a
lady who happened to be a neighbor of Miss
Newcomes when the family misfortune occurred,
and to whom, in her natural dismay and grief,
the young lady fled for comfort and consolation.
Dearest Mrs. Pendennis, wrote Miss Ethel to
my wife, I hear you are at iRosebury; do, do
come to your affectionate B. N. The next day,
it was: Dearest Laura. If you can, pray, pray
come to Newcome this morning. I want very
much to speak to you about the poor children,
to consult you about something most important.
Madame de Moncontours pony - carriage was
trotting constantly between Rosebury and New-
come in these days of calamity.
And my wife, as in duty bound, gave me full
reports of all that happened in that house of
mourning. On the day after the flight, Lady
Ann, her daughter, and some others of her fam-
ily arrived at Newcome. The deserted little
girl, Barness eldest child, ran, with tears and
cries of joy, to her aunt Ethel, whom she had
always loved better than her mother; and clung
to her and embraced her; and, in her artless
little words, told her that mamma had gone
away, and that Ethel should be her mamma
now. Very strongly moved by the misfortune,
as by the caresses and affection of the poor or-
phaned creature, Ethel took the little girl to her
heart, and promised to be a mother to her, and
that she would not leave her; in which pious
resolve I scarcely need say Laura strengthened
her, when, at her young frien~s urgent sum-
mons, my wife came to her.
The household at Newcome was in a state
of disorganization after the catastrophe. Two
of Lady Claras servants, it has been stated al-
ready, went away with her. The luckless mas-
ter of the house was lying wounded in the neigh-
boring town. Lady Ann Newcome, his mother,
was terribly agitated by the news, which was
abruptly broken to her, of the flight of her
daughter-in-law and her sons danger. Now
she thought of flying to Newcome to nurse him;
and then feared lest she should be ill received
by the invalidindeed, ordered by Sir Barnes
to go home, and not to bother him. So at
home Lady Ann remained, where the thoughts
of the sufferings she had already undergone in
that house, of Sir Barness cruel behavior to her
at her last visit, which he had abruptly request-
ed her to shorten, of the happy days which she
had passed as mistress of that house and wife
of the defunct Sir Brian, the sight of that de-
parted angels picture in the dining-room and
wheel-chair in the gallery; the recollection of
little Barnes as a cherub of a child in that very
gallery, and pulled out of the fire by a nurse in
the second year of his age, when he was all that
a fond mother could wishthese incidents and
reminiscences so agitated Lady Ann Neweome,
that she, for her part, went off in a series of
hysterical fits, and acted as one distraught: her
second daughter screamed in sympathy with
her: and Miss Neweome had to take the com-
mand of the whole of this demented household,
hysterical mamma and sister, mutineering serv-
ants, and shrieking abandoned nursery, and bring
young people and old to peace and quiet.
On the morrow after his little concussion Sir
Barnes Neweome came home, not much hurt
in body, but woefully afflicted in temper, and
venting his wrath upon every body round about
him in that strong language which he employed
when displeased; and under which his valet,
his housekeeper, his butler, his farm bailiff, his
lawyer, his doctor, his disheveled mother her-
selfwho rose from her couch and her sal-vola-
tile to fling herself round her dear boys knees
all had to suffer. Ethel Newcome, the Bar-
onets sister, was the only person in his house
to whom Sir Barnes did not utter oaths or prof-
fer rude speeches. He was afraid of offending
her or encountering that resolute spirit, and
lapsed into a surly silence in her presence. In-
distinct maledictory expressions growled about
his chair when he beheld my wifes pony-car-
riage drive up; and he asked what brought her
here? But Ethel sternly told her brother that
Mrs. Pendennis came at her particular request,
and asked him whether he supposed any body THE NEWCOMES. 55
could come into that house for pleasure now,
or for any other motive hut kindness? Upon
which, Sir Barnes fairly hurst out into tears,
intermingled with execrations against his ene-
mies and his own fate, and assertions that he
was the most miserable heggar alive. He would
not see his children; hut with more tears he
would implore Ethel never to leave them, and,
anon, would ask whathe should do when she mar-
ried, and he was left alone in that infernal house?
T. Potts, Esq., of the Newcome Independ-
ent, used to say afterward that the Baronet
was in the direst terror of another meeting with
Lord Highgate, and kept a policeman at the
lodge-gate, and a second in the kitchen, to in-
terpose in event of a collision. But Mr. Potts
made this statement in after days when the
quarrel hetween his party and paper and Sir
Barnes Newcome was flagrant. Five or six
days after the meeting of the two rivals in New-
come market-place, Sir Barnes received a letter
from the friend of Lord Highgate, informing
him that his lordship, having waited for him
according to promise, had now left England,
and presumed that the differences between them
were to be settled by their respective lawyers
infamous behavior on a par with the rest of
Lord Highgates villainy, the Baronet said.
When the scoundrel knew I could lift my
pistol arm, Barnes said, Lord Highgate fled
the countrythus hinting that death, and not
damages, were what he intended to seek from
his enemy.
After that interview in which Ethel commu-
nicated to Laura her farewell letter to Lord
Farintosh, my wife returned to Rosebury with
an extraordinary brightness and gayety in her
face and her demeanor. She pressed Madame
de Moncontours hands with such warmth, she
blushed and looked so handsome, she sang and
talked so gayly, that our host was struck by her
behavior, and paid her husband more compli-
ments regarding her beauty, amiability, and
other good qualities, than need be set down
here. It may he that I like Paul de Florac so
much, in spite of certain undeniable faults of
character, because of his admiration for my
wife. She was in such a hurry to talk to me
that night, that Pauls game and nicotian amuse-
ments were cut short by her visit to the billiard-
room; and when we were alone by the cozy
dressing-room fire, she told me what had hap-
pened during the day. Why should Ethels
refusal of Lord Farintosh have so much elated
my wife?
Ah ! cries Mrs. Pendennis, she has a gen-
erous nature, and the world has not had time to
spoil it. Do you know there are many points
that she never has thought ofI would say
problems that she has to work out for herself,
only you, Pen, do not like us poor ignorant wo-
men to use such a learned word as problems.
Life and experience force things upon her mind
which others learn from their parents or those
who educate them, but for which she has never
had any teachers. Nobody has ever told her,
Arthur, that it was wrong to marry without love,
or pronounce lightly those awful vows which we
utter before God at the altar. I believe, if she
knew that her life was futile, it is but of late
she has thought it could be otherwise, and that
she might mend it. I have read (hesides that
poem of Goethe of which you are so fond) in
books of Indian travels of Bayaderes, dancing
girls brought up by troops round about the tem-
ples, whose calling is to dance, and wear jewels,
and look beautiful; I believe they are quite re-
spected inin Pagoda-land. They perform be-
fore the priests.Jn the pagodas, and the Brain-
ins and the Indian princes marry them. Can
we cry out against these poor creatures, or
against the custom of their country? It seems
to me that young women in our world are bred
up in a way not very different. What they do
they scarcely know to be wrong. They are
educated for the world, and taught to display:
their mothers will give them to the richest suit-
or, as they themselves were given before. How
can these think seriously, Arthur, of souls to be
saved, weak hearts to be kept out of temptation,
prayers to be uttered, and a better world to be
held always in view, when the vanities of this
one are all their thought and scheme? Ethels
simple talk made me smile sometimes, do you
know, and her strenuous way of imparting her
discoveries. I thought of the . shepherd boy
who made a watch, and found on taking it into
the town how very many watches there were,
and how much better than his. But the poor
child has had to make hers for herself such as
it is; and, indeed, is employed now in working
on it. She told me very artlessly her little his-
tory, Arthur; it affected me to hear her simple
talk, andand Iblessed God for our mother,
my dear, and that my early days had had a
better guide.
You know that for a long time it was settled
that she was to marry her cousin, Lord Kew.
She was bred to that notion from her earliest
youth; about which she spoke as we all can
about our early days. They were spent, she
said, in the nursery and school-room, for the.
most part. She was allowed to come to her
mothers dressing-room, and sometimes to see
more of her during the winter at Newcome. She
descrihes her mother as always the kindest of
the kind: but from very early times the daugh-
ter must have felt her own superiority, I think,
though she does not speak of it. You should
see her at home now in their dreadful calamity.
She seems the only person of the house who
keeps her head.
She told very nicely and modestly how it
was Lord Kew who parted from her, not she who
had dismissed him, as you know the Keweomes
used to say. I have heard thatohthat man
Sir Barnes say so myself. She says humbly
that her cousin Kew was a great deal too good
for her; and so is every one almost, she adds,
poor thing !
Poor every one! Did you ask about him,
Laura ? said Mr. Pendennis, 56 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
No; I did not venture. She looked at me Lord Farintosh offered me these. I liked to
out of her downright eyes, and went on with her surpass my companions, and I saw them so eager
little tale. I was scarcely more than a child in pursuing him! You can not think, Laura,
then, she continued, and though I liked Kew what meannesses women in the world will corn-
very muchwho would not like such a gener- mitmothers and daughters too, in the pursuit
ous, honest creature II felt somehow that I was of a person of his great rank. Those Miss Burrs,
taller than my cousin, and as if I ought not to you should have seen them at the country houses
marry him, or should make him unhappy if I where we visited together, and how they follow-
did. When poor papa used to talk, we children ed him; how they would meet him in the parks
remarked that mamma hardly listened to him; and shrubberies; how they liked smoking, though
and so we did not respect him as we should, and I knew it made them ill; how they were always
Barnes was especially scoffing and odious with finding pretexts for getting near him! Oh! it
him. Why, when he was a boy, he used to was odious.*
sneer at papa openly before us younger ones. Wherever we went, however, it was easy
Now Harriet admires every thing that Kew says, to see, I think I may say so without vanity, who
and that makes her a great deal happier at being was the object of Lord Farintoshs attention. He
with him. And then, added Mrs. Pendennis, followed us every where, and we could not go
Ethel said, I hope you respect your husband, upon any visit in England or Scotland but he
Laura: depend on it you will be happier if you was in the same house. Graudmammas whole
do. Was not that a fine discovery of Ethels, heart was bent upon that marriage, and when
Mr. Pen? he proposed for me I do not disown that I was
Claras terror of Barnes frightened me very pleased and vain.
when I staid in the house, Ethel went on. I It is in these last months that I have heard
am sure I would not tremble before any man in about him more, and learned to know him bet-
the world as she did. I saw early that she used terhim and myself too, Laura. Some one
to deceive him, and tell him lies, Laura. I do some one you know, and whom I shall always
not mean lies of words alone, but lies of looks love as a brotherreproached me in former
and actions. Oh! I do not wonder at her fly- days for a worldliness about which you talk too
lug from him. He was dreadful to be with: sometimes. But it is not worldly to give your-
cruel, and selfish, and cold. He was made self up for your family, is it? One can not help
worse by marrying a woman he did not love, as the rank in which one is born, and surely it is
she was by that unfortunate union with him. but natural and proper to marry in itnot (here
Suppose he had found a clever woman, who Miss Ethel laughed) not that Lord Farintosh
could have controlled him, and amused him, and thinks me or any one of his rank. He is the
whom he and his friends could have admired, Sultan, and weevery unmarried girl in soci-
instead of poor Clara, who made his home wea- etyis his humblest slave. His Majestys opin-
risome, and trembled when he entered it? Sup- ions upon this subject did not suit me, I can
pose she could have married that unhappy man assure you: I have no notion of such pride!
to whom she was attached early? I was fright- But I do not disguise from you, dearLaura,
ened, Laura, to think how ill this worldly mar- that after accepting him, as I came to know him
riage had prospered. better, and heard him, and heard of him, and
My poor grandmother, whenever I spoke talked with him daily, and understood Lord
upon such a subject, would break out into a Farintoshs character, I looked forward with
thousand jibes and sarcasms, and point to many more and more doubt to the day when I was to
of our friends who had made love-matches, and become his wife. I have not learned to respect
were quarreling now as fiercely as though they him in these months that I have known him,
had never loved each other. You remember and during which there has becn mourning in
that dreadful case in France of the Duo de , our families. I will not talk to you about him;
who murdered his duchess? That was a love- I have no right, have I? to hear him speak out
match, and I can remember the sort of screech his heart, and tell it to any friend. He said he
with which Lady Kew used to speak about it; liked me because I did not flatter him. Poor
and of the journal which the poor duchess kept, Malcolm! they all do. What w~ s my accept-
and in which she noted down all her husbands ance of him, Laura, but flattery? Yes, flattery,
ill behavior. and servility to rank, and a desire to possess it.
Hush, Laura! Do you remember where Would I have accepted plain Malcolm Roy? I
we are? If the princess were to put down all sent away a better than him, Laura.
Floracs culpabihities in an album, what a ledger These things have been brooding in my
it would beas big as Dr. Portmans Chrysos- mind for some months past. I must have been
tom ! But this was parenthetical, and after a but an ill companion for him, and indeed he
smile, and a little respite, the young woman bore with my waywardness much more kindly
proceeded in her narration of h~r friends his- * In order not to interrupt the narrative, let the reporter
tory. be allowed here to state that at this point of Miss New-
I was willing enough to listen, Ethel said, comes story, whieh my wife gave with a very pretty imi-
then: for we are glad of an tation of the girls manner, we both burst out laughing so
to graudmamma loud that little Madame do Moncontour put her head
excuse to do what we like; and I liked admira- into the drawing.room, and asked what we was a-laugh-
tion, and rank, and great wealth, Laura; and log at. THE NEWCOMES. 57
than I ever thought possible; and when, four
days since, we came to this sad honse, where he
was to have joined ns, and I fonnd only dismay
and wretchedness, and these poor children de-
prived of a mother, whom I pity, God help her!
for she has been made so miserableand is now
and must be to the end of her daysas I lay
awake, thinking of my own futnre life, and that
I was going to marry, as poor Clara had mar-
ried, hut for an establishment and a position in
life; I, my own mistress, and not obedient by
natnre, or a slave to others, as that poor creature
wasI thonght to myself, why shall I do this?
Now Clara has left us, and is, as it were, dead
to us who made her so unhappy, let me be the
mother to her orphans. I love the little girl,
and she has always loved me, and came crying
to me that day when we arrived, and pnt her
dear little arms round my neck, and said, You
wont go away, will you, aunt Ethel ? in her
sweet voice. And I will stay with her; and will
try and learn myself, that I may teach her; and
learn to be good toobetter than I have been.
Will praying help me, Laura? I did. lam sure
I was right, and that it is my duty to stay here.~
Laura was greatly moved as she told her
friends confession; and when the next day at
church the clergyman read the opening words
of the service, I thought a peculiar radiance and
happiness beamed from her bright face.
Some subsequent occurrences in the history
of this branch of the Newcome family I am en-
abled to report from the testimony of the same
informant who has just given us an account of
her own feelings and life. Miss Ethel and my
wife were now in daily communication, and
my-dearesting each other with that female
fervor which, cold men of the world as we are
not only chary of warm expressions of friend-
ship, but averse to entertaining warm feelings at
allwe surely must admire in persons of the
inferior sex, whose loves grow up and reach the
skies in a night; who kiss, embrace, console,
call each other by Christian names, in that
sweet, kindly sisterhood of Misfortune and Com-
passion who are always entering into partnership
here in life. I say the world is full of Miss
Nightingales; and we, sick and wounded in our
private Scutaris, have countless nurse-tenders.
I did not see my wife ministering to the afflict-
ed family at Neweome Park; hut I can fancy
her there among the women and children, her
prudent counsel, her thousand gentle offices, her
apt pity and cheerfulness, the love and truth
glowing in her face, and inspiring her words,
movements, demeanor. Mrs. Pendenniss bus-
hand, for his part, did not attempt to console
Sir Barnes Newcome iNewcome, Baronet. I
never professed to have a halfpeunyworth of
pity at that gentlemans command. Florac, who
owed Barnes his principality and his present
comforts in life, did make some futile efforts at
condolence, but was received hy the Baronet
with such fierceness, and evident ill-humor, that
he did not care to repeat his visits, and allowed
him to vent his curses and peevishness on his
own immediate dependents. We used to ask
Laura on her return to Rosebury from her char-
ity visits to Newcome about the poor suffering
master of the house. She faltered and stam-
mered in describing him, and what she heard of
him; she smiled, I grieve to say, for this un-
fortunate lady can not help having a sense of
humor; and we could not help laughing outright
sometimes at the idea of that discomfited wretch,
that overbearing creature, overborne in his turn
which laughter Mrs. Laura used to chide as
very naughty and unfeeling. When we went
into Neweome the landlord of the Kings Arms
looked knowing and quizzical: Tom Potts
grinned at me and rubbed his hands. This
business serves the paper better than Mr. War-
ringtons articles, says Mr. Potts. We have sold
no end of Independents; and if you polled the
whole borough, I bet that five to one would say
Sir Screwcome Screweome was served right.
By the way, whats up about the Marquis of
Farintosh, Mr. Pendennis? He arrived at the
Arms last night; went over to the Park this
morning, and is gone back to to by the after-
noon train.
What had happened between the Marquis of
Farintosh and Miss Newcome I am enabled to
know from the report of Miss Newcomes con-
fidante. On the receipt of that letter of cong~
which has been mentioned in a former chapter,
his lordship must have been very much excited,
for he left town straightway by that evenings
mail, and on the next morning, after a few hours
of rest at his inn, was at Newcome lodge-gate
demanding to see the Baronet.
On that morning it chanced that Sir Barnes
had left home with Mr. Speers, his legal ad-
viser; and hereupon the Marquis asked to see
Miss Newcome; nor could the lodge-keeper
venture to exclude so distinguished a person
from the park. His lordship drove up to the
house, and his name was taken to Miss Et~J~el.
She turned very pale when she heard it; and
my wife divined at once who was her visitor.
Lady Ann had not left her room as yet. Laura
Pendennis remained in command of the little
conclave of children, with whom the two ladies
were sitting when Lord Farintosh arrived. Lit-
tle Clara wanted to go with her aunt as she
rose to leave the roomthe child could scarcely
be got to p~rt from her now.
At the end of an hour the carriage was seen
driving away, and Ethel returned looking as
pale as before, and red about the eyes. Miss
Claras mutton chop for dinner coming in at
the same time, the child was not so presently
eager for her aunts company. Aunt Ethel cut
up the mutton chop very neatly, and then
having seen the child comfortably seated at her
meal, went with her friend into a neighboring
apartment (of course, with some pretext of
showing Laura a picture, or a piece of china, or
a new childs frock, or with some other hypo-
critical pretense by which the ingenuous female
attendants pretended to be utterly blinded), and
there, I have no doubt, before beginning her 58 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
story, dearest Laura embraced dearest Ethel,
and vice verse.
He is gone ! at length gasps dearest Ethel.
Pour toujours? poor young man ! sighs dear-
est Laura. Was he very unhappy, Ethel ?
He was more angry, Ethel answers. He
had a right to be hurt, but not to speak as he
did. He lost his temper quite at last, and
broke out in the most frantic reproaches. He
forgot all respect and even gentlemanlike be-
havior. Do you know he used wordswords
such as Barnes uses sometimes when he is
angry! and dared this language to me! I was
sorry till then, very sorry, and very much
moved; but I know more than ever now, that I
was right in refusing Lord Farintosh.
Dearest Laura now pressed for an account of
all that had happened, which may be briefly
told as follows: Feeling very deeply upon the
subject which brought him to Miss Newcome, it
was no wonder that Lord Farintosh spoke at
first in a way which moved her. He said he
thought her letter to his mother was very rightly
written under the circumstances, and thanked
her for her generosity in offering to release him
from his engagement. But the affairthe pain-
ful circumstance of Highgate, and thatwhich
had happened in the Newcome family, was no
fault of Miss Newcomes, and Lord Farintosh
could not think of holding her accountable.
His friends had long urged him to marry, and
it was by his mothers own wish that the engage-
ment was formed, which he was determined to
maintain. In his course through the world (of
which he was getting very tired), he had never
seen a woman, a lady who was soyou under-
stand, Ethelwhom he admired so much, who
was likely to make so good a wife for him as
you are. You allude, he continued, to
differences we have hadand we have had them
hut many of them, I own, have been from my
fault. I have been bred up in a way different
to most young men. I can not help it if I have
had temptations to which other men are not
exposed; and have been placed byby Provi-
dencein a high rank of life; I am sure if you
share it with me you will adorn it, and be in
every way worthy of it, and make me much
better than I have been. If you knew what a
night of agony I passed after my mother read
that letter to meI know youd pity me, Ethel
I know you would. The idea of losing you
makes me wild. My mother was dreadfully
alarmed when she saw the state I was in; so
was the DoctorI assure you he was. And I
had no rest at all, and no peace of mind, until
I determined to come down to you; and say
that I adored you, and you only; and that I
would hold to my engagement in spite of every-
thingand prove to you thatthat no man in
the world could love you more sincerely than I
do. Here the young gentleman was so over-
come that he paused in his speech, and gave
way to an emotion, for which, surely no man
who has been in the same condition with Lord
Farintosh will blame him.
Miss Newcome was also much touched by
this exhibition of natural feeling; and, I dare
say, it was at this time that her eyes showed
the first symptoms of that malady of which the
traces were visible an hour after.
You are very generous and kind to me,
Lord Farintosh, she said. Your constancy
honors me very much, and proves how good
and loyal you are; butbut do not think hardly
of me for saying that the more I have thought
of what has happened hereof the wretched
consequences of interested marriages; the long
union growing each day so miserable, that at
last it becomes intolerable, and is burst asunder,
as in poor Claras case; the more I am resolved
not to commit that first fatal step of entering
into a marriage withoutwithout the degree of
affection which people who take that vow ought
to feel for one another.
Affection! Can you doubt it? Gracious
heavens, I adore you! Isnt my being here a
proof that I do I cries the young ladys lover.
But I ? answered the girl. I have asked
my own heart that question before this. I have
thought to myselfif be comes after allif his
affection for me survives this disgrace of our
family, as it has, and every one of us should he
thankful to youought I not to show at least
gratitude for so much kindness and honor, and
devote myself to one who makes such sacrifices
for me? But, before all things I owe you the
truth, Lord Farintosh. I never could make
you happy; I know I could not: nor obey you
as you are accustomed to be obeyed; nor give
you such a dsvotion as you have a right to
expect from your wife. I thought I might
once. I cant now! I know that I took you
because von were rich, and had a great name;
not because you were honest and attached to
me, as you show yourself to be. I ask your
pardon for the deceit I practiced on you. Look
at Clara, poor child, and her misery! My pride,
I know, would never have let me fall as far as
she has done; but, oh! I am humiliated to
think that I could have been made to say I
would take the fiist step in that awful career.
What career, in Gods name ? cries the as-
tonished suitor. Humiliated, Ethel! Whos
going to humiliate you? I suppose there is no
woman in England who need be humiliated by
becoming my wife. I should like to see the
one that I cant pretend toor to royal blood
if I like: its not better than mine. Humiliated,
indeed! That is news. Ha! ha! You dont
suppose that your pedigree, which I know all
about, and the Newcome family, with your bar-
ber-surgeon to Edward the Confessor, are equal
to
To yours? No. It is not very long that I
have learned to disbelieve in that story al-
together. I fancy it was an odd whim of my
poor fathers, and that our family were quite
poor people.
I knew it, said Lord Farintosh. Do you
suppose there was not plenty of women to tell
it me? THE NEWCOMES. 59
It was not because we were poor that I was
humiliated, Ethel went on. That can not
be our fault, though some of us seem to think
it is, as they hide the truth so. One of my
uncles used to tell me that my grandfathers
father was a laborer in Newcome: but I was a
child then, and liked to believe the prettiest
story best.
As if it matters ! cries Lord Farintosh.
As if it matters in your wife? aest-ce pas?
I never thought that it would. I should have
told you, as it was my duty to tell you all. It
was not my ancestors you cared for; and it is
you yourself that your wife must swear before
heaven to love.
Of course its me, answers the young man,
not quite understanding the train of ideas in
his companions mind.
But if I found it was your birth, and your
name, and your wealth that I coveted, and had
nearly taken, ought I not to feel humiliated,
and ask pardon of you and of God? Oh, what
perjuries poor Clara was made to speakand
see what has befallen her! We stood by and
heard her without being shocked. We ap-
plauded even. And to what shame and misery
we brought her! Why did her parents and
mine consign her to such ruin? She might
have lived pure and happy but for us. With
her example before menot her flight, poor
child !I am not afraid of that happening to me
but her long solitude, the misery of her wasted
yearsmy brothers own wretchedness and faults
aggravated a hundredfold by his unhappy union
with herI must pause while it is yet time, and
recall a promise which I know I should make
you unhappy if I fnlfill~d. I ask your pardon
that I deceived you, Lord Farintosh, and feel
ashamed and humiliated for myself that I could
have consented to do it.
Do you mean, cried the young Marquis,
that after my conduct to youafter my loving 60 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
you, so that even thisthis disgrace in your
family dont prevent my going onafter my
mother has heen down on her knees to me to
hreak off, and I wouldntno, I wouldntafter
all Whites sneering at me and laughing at me,
and all my friends, friends of my family, who
would go togo any where for me, advising
me, and saying, Farintosh, what a fool you
are; hreak off this matchand I wouldnt
hack out, hecause I loved you so, hy Heaven!
and hecause, as a man and a gentleman, when
I ~ive my word I keep itdo you mean that
you throw me over? Its a shameits a
shame ! And again there were tears of rage
and anguish in Farintoshs eyes.
What I did was a shame, my lord, Ethel
said, humhly; and again I ask your pardon
for it. What I do now is only to tell you the
truth, and to grieve with all my soul for the
falsehoodyes, the falsehoodwhich I told
you, and which has given your kind heart such
cruel pain.
Yes, it was a falsehood ! the poor lad cried
out. You follow a fellow, and you make a
fool of him, and you make him frantic in love
with you, and then you fling him over! I won-
der you can look me in the face after such an
infernal treason. Youve done it to twenty fel-
lows heforeI know you have. Every hody said
so, and warned me. You draw them on, and
get them to he in love, and then you fling them
away. Am I to go hack to London, and he
made the laughing-stock of the whole townI,
who might marry any woman in Europe, and
who am at the head of the nohility of En-
gland ?
Upon my word, if you will believe me after
deceiving you once, Ethel interposed, still very
humhly, I will never say that it was I who
withdrew from you, and that it was not you who
refused me. What has happened here fully
authorizes you. Let the rupture of the engage-
ment come from you, my lord. Indeed, indeed,
I would spare you all the pain I can. I have
done you wron0 enough already, Lord Farm-
tosh.
And now the Marquis hroke out with tears
and imprecations, wild cries of anger, love, and
disappointment, so fierce and incoherent that
the lady to whom they were addressed did not
repeat them to her confidante. Only she gen-
erously charged Laura to rememher, if ever she
heard the matter talked of in the world, that it
was Lord Farintoshs family which hroke off
the marriage; but that his lordship had acted
most kindly and generously throughout the
whole affair.
He went hack to London in such a state of
fury, and raved so wildly among his friends
against the whole Newcome family, that many
men knew what the case really was. But all
women averred that that intriguing worldly
Ethel Newcome, the apt pupil of her wicked
old grandmother, had met with a deserved re-
huff; that after doing every thing in her power
to catch the great parti, Lord Farintosh, who
had long been tired of her, flung her over, not
liking the connection; and that she was living
out of the world now at Newcome, under the
pretense of taking care of that unfortunate
Lady Claras children, hut really because she
was pining away for Lord Farintosh, who, as
we all know, married six months afterward.
CHAPTER LX.
IN waica WE WRITE TO THE COLONEL.
DEEMING that her brother Barnes had cares
enough of his own presently on hand, Ethel did
not think fit to confide to him the particulars
of her interview with Lord Farintosh; nor even
was poor Lady Ann informed that she had lost
a noble son-in-law. The news would come to
both of them soon enough, Ethel thought; and
indeed, before many hours were over, it reached
Sir Barnes Newcome in a very abrupt and un-
pleasant way. He had dismal occasion now to
see his lawyers every day; and on the day after
Lord Farintoshs abrupt visit and departure, Sir
Barnes, going into Newcome upon his own un-
fortunate affairs, was told by his attorney, Mr.
Speers, how the Marquis of Farintosh had slept
for a few hours at the Kings Arms, and returned
to town the same evening by the train. We
may add, that his lordship had occupied the
very room in which Lord Highgate had pre-
viously slept; and Mr. Taplow recommends the
bed accordingly, and shows it with pride to this
very day.
Much disturbed by this intelligence, Sir
Barnes was making his way to his cheerless
home in the evening, when near his own gate
he overtook another messenger. This was the
railway porter, who daily brought telegraphic
messages from his uncle And the bank in Lon-
don. The message of that day was, Consols,
so-and-so. French Rentes, so much. Th~jh-
gates and Fariutashs accounts withdrawn. The
wretched keeper of the lodge owned, with trem-
bling, in reply to the curses and queries of his
employer, that a gentleman calling himself the
Marquis of Farintosh had gone up to the house
the day before, and come away an hour after-
warddid not like to speak to Sir Barnes when
he came home, Sir Barnes looked so bad like.
Now, of course, there could be no conceal- THE NEWCOMES. 61
ment from her brother, and Ethel and Barnes From such a hook I once cut out, in Charles
had a conversation, in which the latter expressed Slyboots well-known and perfectly clear hand-
himself with that freedom of language which writing, the words Miss Emily Hartington,
characterized the head of the house of New- James Street, Buckingham Gate, London, and
come. Madame de Moncontours pony-chaise produced as legibly on the blotting-paper as on
was in waiting at the hall door when the owner the envelope which the postman delivered.
of the house entered it, and my wife was just After showing the paper round to the compa-
taking leave of Ethel and her little people when ny, I inclosed it in a note and sent it to Mr.
Sir Barnes Newcome entered the ladys sitting- Slyboots, who married Miss Hartington three
room. months afterward. In such a book at the club
The livid scowl with which Barnes greeted I read, as plainly as you may read this page, a
my wife surprised that lady, though it did not holograph page of the Right Honorable the Earl
induce her to prolong her visit to her friend, of Bareacres, which informed the whole club
As Laura took leave, she heard Sir Barnes of a painful and private circumstance, and said,
screaming to the nurses to take those little My dear GreenI am truly sorry that I shall
beggars away ; and she rightly conjectured that not be able to take up the bill for eight hundred
some more unpleasantries had occurred to dis- and fifty-six pounds, which becomes due next
turb this luckless gentlemans temper. Tu and upon such a book, going to
On the morrow, dearest Ethels usual courier, write a note in Madame de Moncontours
one of the boys from the lodge, trotted over on drawing-room at Hosebury, what should I find
his donkey to dearest Laura at Hosebury with but proofs that my own wife was engaged in a
one of those missives which were daily passing clandestine correspondence with a gentleman
between the ladies. This letter said: residing abroad!
Barnes ma fait une sc~ne terrible bier. I Colonel Newcome, C. B., Montague de la
was obliged to tell him every thing about Lord Cour, Brussels, I read, in t12is young woman 5
F., and to use the plainest language. At first, he handwriting; and asked, turning round npon
forbade you the house. He thinks that you Laura, who entered the room just as I discov-
have been the cause of F.s dismissal, and ered her guilt, What have you been writing
charged me, most unjustly, with a desire to bring to Colonel Newcome about, Miss ?
back poor C. N. I replied as became me, and I wanted him to get me some lace, she
told him fairly I would leave the house if odious said.
znsulting charges were made against me, if my To lace some nightcaps for me, didnt you,
friends were not received. He stormed, he my dear? He is such a fine judge of lace! If
cried, he employed his usual lan~uagehe was I had known you had been writing, I would
in a dreadful state. He relented, and asked have asked you to send him a message. I
pardon. He goes to town to-night by the mail want something from Brussels. Is the letter
train. Qf course you come as usual, dear, dear ahemgone ? (In this artful way, you see, I
Laura. I am miserable without you; and you just hinted that I should like to see the letter.)
know I can not leave poor mamma. Clarykin The letter isahemgone, says Laura.
sends a thousand kisses to little Arty; and I am What do you want from Brussels, Pen ?
his mothers always affectionateE. N. I want some Brussels sprouts, my love
Will the gentlemen like to shoot our pheas- they are so fine in their native country.
ants? Please ask the Prince to let Warren Shall I write to him to send the letter
know when. I sent a brace to poor dear old back ? pulpitates poor little Laura; for she
Mrs. Mason, and had such a nice letter from thought her husband was offended, by using
her 1 the ironic method.
And who is poor dear Mrs. Mason ? asks No, you dear little woman! You need not
Mr. Pendennis, as yet but imperfectly acquaint- send for the letter back, and you need not tell
ed with the history of the Newcomes. me what was in it: and I will bet you a bun-
And Laura told meperhaps I had heard dred yards of lace to a cotton nightcapand
before, and forgottenthat Mrs. Mason was an you know whether I, Madam, am a man a bon-
old nurse and pensioner of the Colonels, and net-de-cotoaI will bet you that I know what
how he had been to see her for the sake of old you have been writing about, under pretense
times, and how she was a great favorite with of a message about lace, to our Colonel.
Ethel; and Laura kissed her little son, and was I-Ic l)romised to send it me. He really did.
exceedingly bright, cheerful, and hilarious that Lady Rockminster gave me twenty pounds
evening, in spite of the affliction under which gasps Laura.
her dear friends at Newcome were laboring. Under pretense of lace, you have been
People in country houses should he exceed- sending over a love-message. You want to see
ingly careful about their blotting-paper. They whether Clive is still of his old mind. You
should bring their own portfolios with them. think the coast is now clear, and that dearest
If any kind readers will bear this simple little Ethel may like him. You think Mrs. Mason
hint in mind, how much mischief may they is growing very old and infirm, and the sight of
save themselvesnay, enjoy possibly, by look- her dear boy would
ing at the pages of the next portfolio in the Pen! Pen! did you open my letter. cries
next friends bedroom in which they sleep. Laura; and a laugh which could afford to be
VOL. XI.No. 61.B 62 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
good-humored (followed by yet another expres-
sion of the lips) ended this colloquy. No; Mr.
Pendeunis did not see the letter, but he knew
the writer; flattered himself that he knew
women in general.
Where did you get your experience of them,
Sir ? asks Mrs. Laura. Question answered in
the same manner as the previous demand.
Well, my dear, and why should not the
poor boy be made happy ? Laura continues,
standing very close up to her husband. It is
evident to me that Ethel is fond of him. I
would rather see her married to a good young
man whom she loves, than the mistress of a
thousand palaces and coronets. Supposesup-
pose you had married Miss Amory, Sir, what a
wretched worldly creature you would have been
by this time; whereas now
Now that I am the humble slave of a good
woman, there is some chance for me, cries this
model of husbands. And all good women
are match-makers, as we know very well; and
you have had this match in your heart ever
since you saw the two young people together.
Now, Madam, since I did not see your letter to
the Colonelthong]? I have guessed part of itk
tell me, what have you said in it? Have you by
any chance told the Colonel that the Farintosh
alliance was broken off?
Laura owned that she had hinted as much.
You have not ventured to say tL t Ethel
is well inclined to Clive ?
Oh nooh dear, no I But after much
cross-examining, and a little blushing on Lau-
ras part, she is brought to confess that she has
asked the Colonel whether he will not come
and see Mrs. Mason, who is pining to see him,
and is growing very old. And I find out that
she has been to see this Mrs. Mason; that she
and Miss Newcome visited the old lady the day
before yesterday; and Laura thought, from the
manner in which Ethel looked at Clives pic-
ture hanging up in the parlor of his fathers old
friend, that she really was very much, etc., etc.
So, the letter being gone, Mrs. Pendennis is
most eager about the answer to it; and day
after day examines the bag, and is provoked
that it brings no letter bearing the Brussels
post-mark.
Madame de Moncontour seems perfectly well
to know what Mrs. Laura has been doing and
is hoping. What, no latems again to-day?
Aint it 1)rovoking? she cries. She is in the
conspiracy too, and presently Florac is one of
the initiated. These women wish to 6dclcr
a marriage between the belle Miss and le petit
Claive, Florac announces to me. He pays the
highest compliments to Miss Neweomes person
as he speaks regarding the marriage. I con-
tinue to adore your Anglaises, he is ]?)leased to
say. ~ What of freshness, what of beauty, what
roses! And then, they are so adorably good.
Go, Pendennis, thou art a happy co~uia ! Mr.
Pendennis does not say No. He has won the
twenty thousand pound prize; and we know
.there are worse than blanks in that lottery.
No answer came to Mrs. Pendenniss letter
to Colonel Newcome at Brussels, for the Col-
onel was absent from that city, and at the time
when Laura wrote was actually in London,
whither affairs of his own had called him. A
note from George Warrington acquainted me
with this circumstance; he mentioned that he
and the Colonel had dined together at Bayss
on the day previous. This news put Laura in
a sad perplexity. Should she write and tell
him to get his letters from Brussels? She
would in five minutes have found some other
pretext for writing to Colonel Newcome, had
not her husband sternly cautioned the young
woman to leave the matter alone.
The more readily perhaps because he had
quarreled with his nephew Sir Barnes, Thomas
Newcome went to visit his hrother Hobson and
his sisterinlaw ; bent on showing that there
was no division between him and this branch
of his f mily. And you may 5U1)PO5C that the
admirable woman just named had a fine occa-
sion for her virtuous conversational powers in
discoursing upon the painful event which had
just happened to Sir Barnes. When we fall,
ho~v our friends cry out for us! Mrs. Ilobsons
homilies must have been awful. How that out-
raged virtue must have groaned and lamented,
gathered its children about its knees, wept over
them and washed them; gone into sackcloth
and ashes, and tied up the knocker; confabu-
lated with its spiritual adviser; uttered com-
monplaces to its husband; and bored the whole
house! The 1)unishment of worldliness and
vanity, the evil of marrying out of ones station,
how these points must have been explained and
enlarged on! Surely the Peerage was taken
off the drawiab-room tal)lO and removed to
papas study, where it could not open, as it used
naturally once, to liighgate, Baron, or Farm-
tosh, Marquis of, being shut behind wires, and
closely jammed in on an upper shelf between
Blackstones Commentaries and the Farmers
Magazine! The breakin~ of the engagement
with the Marquis of Farintosh was kno~vn in
Brvanstone Square; and you may be sure in-
terpreted by Mrs. Ilobson in the light the most
disadvantageous to Ethel Neweome. A young
noblemanwith grief and pain Ethels aunt
must own the facta young man of notoriously
CHAPTER LXI.
IN wmacim WE ARE niTnonucED TO A NEW NEWOOME. THE NEWCOMES. 63
dissipated habits but of great wealth and rank,
had been pursued by the unhappy Lady Kew
Mrs. liobson would not say by her niece, that
were too dreadfulhad been pursued, and fol-
lowed, aud hunted down in the most notorious
manner, and finally made to propose! Let
Ethels conduct and penishment be a warning to
my dearest girls, and let them bless Heaven
that they have parents who are not worldly!
After all the trouble and pains, Mrs. Hobson
did not say disqrace, the Marquis takes the very
first pretext to break off the match, and leaves
the unfoi~unate girl forever!
And now we have to tell of the hardest blow
which fell upon poor Ethel, and this was that
her good uncle Thomas Newcome believed the
charges against her. He was willing enough to
listen now to any thing which was said against
that branch of the family. With such a traitor,
double-dealer, dastard as Barnes at its head,
what could the rest of the race be? When the
Colonel offered to endow Etbel and Clive with
every shilling he had in the world, had not
Barnes, the arch-traitor, temporized and told
him falsehoods, and hesitated about throwing
him off until the Marquis had declared him-
self? Yes. The girl he and poor Clive loved
so was ruined by her artful relatives, was un-
worthy of his affection and his boys, was to be
banished, like her worthless brother, out of his
regard forever. And the man she had chosen
in preference to his Clive !a rou~, a libertine,
whose extravagances and dissipations were the
talk of every club, who had no wit, nor talents,
not even constancy (for had he not taken the
first opportunity to throw her off?) to recom-
mend himonly a great title and a fortune
wherewith to bribe her! For shame, for shame!
Her eng%ement to this man was a blot npon
herthe rupture only a just punishment and
humiliation. Poor unhappy girl! let her take
care of her wretched brothers abandoned chil-
dren, give up the world, and amend her life.
This was the sentence Thomas Newcome de-
livered: a righteous and tender-hearted man,
as we know, but judging in this case wrongly,
and bearing much too hardly, as we who know
her better must think, upon one who had her
faults certainly, but whose errors were not all
of her own making. Who set her on the path
she walked in? It was her parents hands
which led her, and her parents voices which
commanded her to accept the temptation set
before her. What did she know of the char-
acter of the man selected to be her husband?
Those who should have known better brought
him to her, and vouched for him. Noble; Un-
happy youn~ creature! are you the first of your
sisterhood who has been hidden to traffic your
beauty, to crush and slay your honest natural
affections, to sell your truth and your life for
rank and title? But the Judge who sees not
the outward acts merely, but their causes, and
vie~vs not the wrong alone, but the temptations,
struggles, i~norance of erring creatures, we know
has a different code to oursto ours, who fall
upon the fallen, who fawn upon the prosperous
so, who administer our praises and punishments
so prematurely, who now strike so hard, and,
anon, spare so shamelessly.
Our stay with our hospitable friends at Rose-
bury was perforce coming to a close, for indeed
weeks after weeks had passed since we had
been under their pleasant roof; and in spite of
dearest Ethels remonstrances, it was clear that
dearest Laura must take her farewell. In these
last days, besides the visits which daily took
place between one and other, the young mes-
senger was put in ceaseless requisition, and his
donkey must have been worn off his little legs
with trotting to and fro between the two houses.
Laura was quite anxious and hurt at not hear-
ing from the Colonel: it was a shame that he
did not have over his letters from Belgium and
answer that one which she had honored him by
writing. By some information, received who
knows how? our host was aware of the intrigue
which Mrs. Pendennis was carrying on; and his
little wife almost as much interested in it as my
own. Barnes meanwhile remained absent in
London, attending to his banking duties there,
and pursuing the dismal inquiries which ended,
in the ensuing Micheelmas term, in the famous
suit of Neweome v. Lord Highgate. Ethel, pur-
suing the plan which she had laid down for her-
self from the first, took entire charge of his chil-
dren and house: Lady Ann returned to her own
family: never indeed having been of much use
in her sons dismal household. My wife talked
to me, of course, about her pursuits and amuse-
ments at Newcome, in the ancestral-hall which
we have mentioned. ~e children played and
ate their dinner (mine often partook of his in-
fantine mutton, in company with little Clara
and the poor young heir of Neweome) in the
room which had been called my Ladys own,
and in which her husband had locked her,
forgetting that the conservatories were open,
through which the hapless woman had fled.
Next to this was the baronial library, a side of
which was fitted with the gloomy books from
Clapham, which old Mrs. Neweome had amass-
ed; rows of tracts, and missionary magazines,
and dingy quarto volumes of worldly travel and
history which that lady had admitted into her
collection.
Almost on the last day of our stay at Rose-
bury, the two young ladies bethought them of
paying a visit to the neighborin~ town of New-
come, to that old Mrs. Mason who has been
mentioned in a foregoing page in some yet ear-
lier chapter of our history. She was very old
now, very faahful to the recollections of her
own early time, and oblivious of yesterday.
Thanks to Colonel Neweomes bounty, she had
lived in comfort for many a long year past;
and he was as much her boy now as in those
early days of which we have given but an out-
line. There were Clives pictures of himself
and his father over her litt~e mantlepiece, near
which she sat in comfort and warmth by the
winter fire which his bounty supplied. 64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Mrs. Mason remembered Miss Newcome, We shall send you a wedding cake soon, and
prompted thereto by the hints of her little maid, a new gown for Keziah (to whom remember
who was much younger, and had a more faith- me), and when I am gone, my grandchildren
ful memory than her mistress. Why Sarah after me will hear what a dear friend you were
Mason would have forgotten the pheasants to your affectionate THoMAs NEWCOME.
whose very tails decorated the chimney-glass,
had not Keziah, the maid, reminded her that
the young lady was the donor. Then she re-
collected her henefactor, and asked after her
father, the Baronet; and wondered, for her
part, why her boy, the Colonel, was not made
baronet, and why his brother had the property?
Her father was a very good man; though Mrs.
Mason had heard he was not much liked in
those parts. Dead and gone, was he, poor
man ? (This came in reply to a hint from
Keziah, the attendant, bawled in the old ladys
ears, who was very deaf.) Well, well, we
must all go; and if we were all good, like the
Colonel, what was the use of staying? I hope
his wife will be good. I am sure such a good
man deserves one, added Mrs. Mason.
The ladies thought the old woman doting,
led thereto hy the remark of Keziab, the maid,
that Mrs. Mason have a lost her memory. And
she asked who the other bonny lady was, and
Ethel told her that Mrs. Pendennis was a friend
of the Colonels and Clives.
Oh, Clives friend! Well, she was a pretty
lady, and he was a dear pretty boy. He drew
those pictures; and he took off me in my cap,
with my old cat and allmy poor old cat thats
buried this ever so long ago.
She has had a letter from the Colonel,
Miss, cries out Keziab. Havent you had a
letter from the Colonel, mum? It came only
yesterday. And Keziah takes out the letter
and shows it to the ladies. They read as fol-
lows:
London, February 12, 184.
My DEAR OLD MAsONI have just heard
from a friend of mine who has been staying in
your neighborhood, that you are well and hap-
py, and that you have been making inquiries
after your young scapegrace, Tom Newcome, who
is well and happy too.
The letter which was uritten to me about
you was sent to me in Belgium, at Brussels,
where I have been livinga town near the place
where the famous Battle qf Waterloo was fought;
and as I had run away from Waterloo, it ~fol-
lamed me to England.
I can not come- to Newcome just now to
shake my dear old friend and nurse by the hand.
I have business in London; and there a.re those
of my name living in Newcome who would not
be very happy to sue me and mine.
But I promise you a visit before very long,
and Clive will come with me; and when we
come I shall introduce a new friend to you, a
very pretty little duughter-ia-law, whom you must
promise to love very much. She is a Scotch
lassie, niece of my oldest friend, James Binnie,
Esquire, of the Bengal Civil Service, who will
give her a pretty bit qf sillar, and her present
name is Miss Rosa Mackenzie.
Keziah must have thought that there was
something between Clive and my wife, for
when Laura had read the letter she laid it
down on the table, and sitting down by it,
and, hiding her face in her hands, burst into
tears.
Ethel looked steadily at the two pictures of
Clive and his father. Then she put her hand
on her friends shoulder. Come, my dear,
she said, it is growinglate, and I must go back
to my children. And she saluted Mrs. Mason
and her maid in a very stately manner, and left
them, leading my wife away, who was still ex-
ceedingly overcome.
We could not stay long at Rosebury after that.
When Madame do Moncontour heard the news,
the good lady cried too. Mrs. Pendenniss emo-
tion was renewed as we passed the gates of New-
come Park on our way to the railroad.
THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY.
A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.
Q HE was gasping when I came in. Her sick-
k) ness had been sudden and severe, and be--
fore we were prepared for the terrible event, we
knew that death was at the door.
The house in which Mrs. Bell had lived for
twenty years, and was now dying, was an old-
fashioned mansion on the hill overlooking the
village and the bay, and a wide expanse of
meadow fhat stretched away to the waters
edge. On the side toward the sea was a long
piazza, a favorite resort of the family in sum-
mer, when the weather was pleasant. I was
walking on it, and now and then looking off
upon the world below, but with my thoughts
more turned upon the scenes that were passing
within.
I had been sent for, a few hours before, and
to my consternation and grief had found Mrs.
Bell already given up by her physicians, and her
life rapidly rushing to its close. her disease
was inflammatory. Its progress had defied all
human skill, and two days had brought her to
this! It was hard to believe it. But why
should I be so distressed with the result, when
others were suffering anguish which even my
sympathies could not reach to relieve? Ex-
hausted with my vain but earnest efforts to
soothe the heart-rending grief of those who
clung to the dying, I had loft the chamber.
Mrs. Bell was a member of my church. Mr.
Bell was not. lie was reputed to be a man of
means, and was known to be living easily, doing
but little business, and apparently caring for
nothing in the future. No one suspected that
this indifference had resulted in the gradual
wastin0 away of the property he had inherited;

The Sisters. A Parson's Story64-75

64 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Mrs. Mason remembered Miss Newcome, We shall send you a wedding cake soon, and
prompted thereto by the hints of her little maid, a new gown for Keziah (to whom remember
who was much younger, and had a more faith- me), and when I am gone, my grandchildren
ful memory than her mistress. Why Sarah after me will hear what a dear friend you were
Mason would have forgotten the pheasants to your affectionate THoMAs NEWCOME.
whose very tails decorated the chimney-glass,
had not Keziah, the maid, reminded her that
the young lady was the donor. Then she re-
collected her henefactor, and asked after her
father, the Baronet; and wondered, for her
part, why her boy, the Colonel, was not made
baronet, and why his brother had the property?
Her father was a very good man; though Mrs.
Mason had heard he was not much liked in
those parts. Dead and gone, was he, poor
man ? (This came in reply to a hint from
Keziah, the attendant, bawled in the old ladys
ears, who was very deaf.) Well, well, we
must all go; and if we were all good, like the
Colonel, what was the use of staying? I hope
his wife will be good. I am sure such a good
man deserves one, added Mrs. Mason.
The ladies thought the old woman doting,
led thereto hy the remark of Keziab, the maid,
that Mrs. Mason have a lost her memory. And
she asked who the other bonny lady was, and
Ethel told her that Mrs. Pendennis was a friend
of the Colonels and Clives.
Oh, Clives friend! Well, she was a pretty
lady, and he was a dear pretty boy. He drew
those pictures; and he took off me in my cap,
with my old cat and allmy poor old cat thats
buried this ever so long ago.
She has had a letter from the Colonel,
Miss, cries out Keziab. Havent you had a
letter from the Colonel, mum? It came only
yesterday. And Keziah takes out the letter
and shows it to the ladies. They read as fol-
lows:
London, February 12, 184.
My DEAR OLD MAsONI have just heard
from a friend of mine who has been staying in
your neighborhood, that you are well and hap-
py, and that you have been making inquiries
after your young scapegrace, Tom Newcome, who
is well and happy too.
The letter which was uritten to me about
you was sent to me in Belgium, at Brussels,
where I have been livinga town near the place
where the famous Battle qf Waterloo was fought;
and as I had run away from Waterloo, it ~fol-
lamed me to England.
I can not come- to Newcome just now to
shake my dear old friend and nurse by the hand.
I have business in London; and there a.re those
of my name living in Newcome who would not
be very happy to sue me and mine.
But I promise you a visit before very long,
and Clive will come with me; and when we
come I shall introduce a new friend to you, a
very pretty little duughter-ia-law, whom you must
promise to love very much. She is a Scotch
lassie, niece of my oldest friend, James Binnie,
Esquire, of the Bengal Civil Service, who will
give her a pretty bit qf sillar, and her present
name is Miss Rosa Mackenzie.
Keziah must have thought that there was
something between Clive and my wife, for
when Laura had read the letter she laid it
down on the table, and sitting down by it,
and, hiding her face in her hands, burst into
tears.
Ethel looked steadily at the two pictures of
Clive and his father. Then she put her hand
on her friends shoulder. Come, my dear,
she said, it is growinglate, and I must go back
to my children. And she saluted Mrs. Mason
and her maid in a very stately manner, and left
them, leading my wife away, who was still ex-
ceedingly overcome.
We could not stay long at Rosebury after that.
When Madame do Moncontour heard the news,
the good lady cried too. Mrs. Pendenniss emo-
tion was renewed as we passed the gates of New-
come Park on our way to the railroad.
THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY.
A NARRATIVE OF FACTS.
Q HE was gasping when I came in. Her sick-
k) ness had been sudden and severe, and be--
fore we were prepared for the terrible event, we
knew that death was at the door.
The house in which Mrs. Bell had lived for
twenty years, and was now dying, was an old-
fashioned mansion on the hill overlooking the
village and the bay, and a wide expanse of
meadow fhat stretched away to the waters
edge. On the side toward the sea was a long
piazza, a favorite resort of the family in sum-
mer, when the weather was pleasant. I was
walking on it, and now and then looking off
upon the world below, but with my thoughts
more turned upon the scenes that were passing
within.
I had been sent for, a few hours before, and
to my consternation and grief had found Mrs.
Bell already given up by her physicians, and her
life rapidly rushing to its close. her disease
was inflammatory. Its progress had defied all
human skill, and two days had brought her to
this! It was hard to believe it. But why
should I be so distressed with the result, when
others were suffering anguish which even my
sympathies could not reach to relieve? Ex-
hausted with my vain but earnest efforts to
soothe the heart-rending grief of those who
clung to the dying, I had loft the chamber.
Mrs. Bell was a member of my church. Mr.
Bell was not. lie was reputed to be a man of
means, and was known to be living easily, doing
but little business, and apparently caring for
nothing in the future. No one suspected that
this indifference had resulted in the gradual
wastin0 away of the property he had inherited; THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 65
mortgages covering all the landed estates he
was known to possess, till even the homestead
was in danger.
But the pride of my parish was in this family.
Two daughters, with only the difference of a year
in their ages, and now just coming up into wo-
manhood, were the only children of Mr. and
Mrs. Bell. Sarah was the oldest, and her blue
eyes and yellow hair were like her mothers, and
the younger, Mary, had inherited from her fa-
ther a radiant black eye, and locks of the raven
hue. They were sisters in heart, soul, and mind,
though a stranger would not have taken them
to be the children of the same mother. Such
love as hound them was wonderful to me, who,
as the pastor of the family, was often there, and
knew them well. I had watched its growth for
ten years, and frequently had remarked that it
exceeded in tenderness and devotion any thing
of the kind that had ever fallen under my no-
tice. Mrs. Bell had a thousand-fold more op-
portunities of putting it to the test, and of see-
ing it tried in the daily and hourly intercourse
of the family, and she had told me that she had
never known a moment of failure in the season of
childhood and of youth, when the temper is often
tried, and children are called on to make sacri-
fices for one another in little things, far great-
er tests of love than the struggles of after-life.
She had observed, and had mentioned to me, a
mysterious sympathy between them even from
very early years. Their minds were turned at
one and the same moment toward the same sub-
ject, when there appeared to be nothing sugges-
tive of the train of thought engaging them both.
A secret thread seemed to connect their souls,
so that what was passing in ones mind was
often at work in the others. Instead of pro-
voking dissension, as such a coincidence would
naturally produce, it was rather a bond of
union, leading them to love the same pleas-
ures, and to study and labor to promote each
others joys. This was the more remarkable as
their natural temperaments were unlike. The
eldest was sanguine and cheerful, a sunbeam
always shining in the house, glad and making
gladthe brightest, happiest, gleefulest girl in
my parish. Mary was sedate. Like her fa-
ther, she was not inclined to action. Even in
her childhood a tinge of melancholy gave a
coloring to her life. She was fond of reading
and retirement. When alone, her thoughts were
her own. Her love for Sarah, and her filial love,
made her faithful as a sister and a child; but
there was a trai.t of character in which her sis-
ter, with all their sympathy, did not share. It
was requisite, this contrast, to make them two.
There was individuality, notwithstanding the
kin-tie of spirit binding them as one, in a deep,
earnest, true-hearted love that knew no break
or change. But I am dwelling on thes~ feat-
ures of the children while the mother is dying.
I was walking up and down the piazza, think-
ing of the awful ~vork death was making in this
house; of the wondrous love that bound mother
and daughters, now to be no barrier in the way
of this fell destroyer, half wishing I had the
power to stay his arm, and drive him out of the
paradise he was about to blast with his breath,
when a servant summoned me to the chamber.
She was gasping us I entered. The fever
raging in her veins had suffused her cheeks
with crimson: the rich hair, which, according
to the custom of the timesfor this was many,
many years agoshe had worn in a mass sus-
tained by a comb on the back of her head, now
hung in great ringlets on her shoulders, and
the eye, sparkling with the last light of life,
was fixed on her daughters kneeling at the bed-
side, giving vent to their bitter grief in floods
of tears, and sobs they strove in vain to sup-
press.
Yet she knew me. She raised her hand as
I came in, and said to me as I approached, I
know that my Redeemer liveth. Before I could
find words, she added: My childrenthe poor
girlsbe kind to thembe a friend to my dear
husband. It was her last effort. While I
had been out of the room she had taken leave
of those dearest in life, and was now breathing
away her spirit calmly, for she was not afraid
to die, peacefully, for the pains of death were
past.
It was all over. The stricken daughters
were borne from the room by kind friends.
The husband, betraying less emotion than we
thought he would show in the midst of such a
scene, retired, and I was for a moment alone
with the dead. Wondrous the change that an
instant had wrought! Out on an unknown sea
the soul had drifted, and left this wreck upon
the shorea dissolving hulka heap of clay
that would soon be loathsome to those who an
hour ago were hanging over it with intensest
love, covering it with kisses, and folding it in
their arms. They call this awful work by the
name of death! But this is not the last of
Mrs. Bell, the lovely, livin~ Mrs. Bell. She is
not dead. This is not the wife, the mother,
the friend. She is not here. And as she is
not here, we can do nothing more for her.
A few days afterward we laid her in the
grave. She was a great favorite among our
people, and they were all present at her buri-
aL The grief of the daughters was for the
present inconsolable; it was kindness to let
them weep freely, and have their own way in
the first gush of their great sorrow. Perhaps
time would do something for them. Religion
would shed a soothing influence over their
crushed and bleeding hearts, but now it was
better to let the streams of affection flow along
in these gushing tears, for there is a medicine
in weeping that I the first remedy of grief.
ir.
Mr. Bell died in less than a year. He was
seized with a fit of apoplexy, while sitting on
the piazza after dinner, and died without a
word.
The daughters were not at home, but were
sent for in all haste, and arrived just as I did,
being called again to the house where so recently 66 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
I had seen the fairest and fondest of mothers
expire. The body of Mr. Bell, dressed as he
died, was lying on the same bed which I had
last seen, when the corpse of his wife was there.
It seemed but the day before. Not a change
had been made. The same Bible lay on the
same stand, near the bed, and I had heard that
he read it oftener since the death of his wife.
The same bureau with drawers and covered
with a white cloth, a few choice books standing
on it, was on the other side of the room, and a
large easy-chair stuffed and clothed with dimity,
and a few simple but very convenient articles
completed the furniture of the apartment. But
instead of the pale form of my gentle friend,
Mrs. Bell, lovely even in death, there was lying
on that white counterpane the large and now
blackened corpse of her husband. The physi-
cian, who had been early on the ground, had
found him dead. The case was a plain one.
Indeed he had been often warned of such an
event, but his habitual fondness of putting
thin~s off had led him to neglect all means of
improving or preserving his health, and he had
been cut down in the midst of his days.
But the daughters. They are orphans now.
They clung to me as to the friend on whom
they might lean, and who would not forget the
dying request of their sainted mother. They
bad loved their father with all the earnestness
of their nature, and all the more since the death
of their mother had made him dependent on
them for a thousand nameless acts and arts of
kindness which he had ever received from his
faithful wife. And the loneliness that now lay
before them was so appalling that they feared
to look into the future. They had no brother,
no relative to whom they might turn. It was
not strange that such thoughts pressed on them,
even at the side of their dead father, and that
ia the midst of their anguish under this sudden
and overwhelming blow, they should every now
and then cry out, What shall we do ? And
who could answer the question?
If it was a sad and fearful inquiry while as
yet we believed that Mr. Bell had left behind
him a large and handsome property, it was
more distressing still, when a few weeks after
his death it was discovered that he was hope-
lessly involved in debt, and after the claims of
his creditors were but partially satisfied, it would
leave nothing, not a cent, not the homestead,
not the house, not even the furniture to his
daughters. He was a bankrupt, and had been
for a long time past, but he had no energy to
meet the calamity, and death came on him just
as his affairs were reaching a crisis that put
further concealment of the state of his affairs
out of the question. Perhaps the coming dis-
closure hastened the blow that killed him.
l3ut the facts could no longer be hid even from
those whom they must crush. Poor girls! In
every sense that makes that word poor a term
of pity, these girls were now poor indeed. Had
it been possible for me in my circumstances to
have assumed the burden, I would gladly have
taken them to my own home, and made them
sharers with my children in the weal or woe in
store for us all. This I could not in justice do.
But something must be done, and that with no
delay. The estate was administered upon in a
few weeks, and as there were no funds to meet
the debts, the law took its course, and the
orphans were homeless.
Their education had been domestic. Mrs.
Bell had been their teacher. They were well
read girls, but not fitted to teach others. So
that door was not open to them. Sarah par-
ticularly, with a fine imagination and a de-
cidedly poetical turn of mind, was familiar with
the literature of her own language, which she
was accustomed to read with her mother. Many
of her letters are now in my possession, and they
are clothed in language at once graceful and
rich, and some of them are beautiful in style
and thought. Mary had less taste for reading,
yet she thought more and felt deeper than her
sister. In the retirement of that home circle
the mother and daughters, with an industry
more common perhaps in those days than it is
in the present, had made needle-work their
chief employment, and it was natural that the
girls should turn to that in which they were the
most expert, as the means on which they must
rely for their main support, now that they were
thrown upon their own resources, or upon the
charity of the world. They had too much self-
reliance and too much confidence in God, to
trust themselves to the kindness of friends who,
in the impulse of sudden sympathy, might offer
to do for them what would soon prove to be a
task and a burden. No; they would meet the
emergency with the energy of faith and hope,
knowing that God helps those who help them-
selves. They gave themselves scant time for
mourning. They left the home of their infancy
and childhoodthe third great sorrow of their
lives. But now that father and mother were
both gone, even the honeysuckle that climbed
up the piazza, and the beds of flowers they had
planted and tended with their own hands, and
the fruit that hung in rich abundance in the
garden, lost half their valuethey served rather
to remind them of days when in happy youth
they had enjoyed them all with the parents they
had lost, and it was almost a relief to turn their
backs upon the home they had loved, and seek
a humble lodging in the village.
III.
For they are sewing-girls now. It was no-
thing that they were young and pretty and well-
bred. They must have food and raiment and
shelter, and they could earn all by the labor of
their hands. They were not the girls to shrink
from the contest with pride and custom, and
the thousand and one mortifications to which
this new and trying life would lead. Sarah led
and Mary followed. They had no words about
it. Sarah proposed it, and Mary had been think-
ing of the same plan. It was the only one before
them. And it was not so hopeless as it might
be. They had many friends. They would find THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 67
work, plenty of it. and it would be sweeter to live
on the bread of honest industry than to ask the
charity of any one, or to receive it without ask-
ing. It was a noble resolution. They consulted
me before coming to a decision, and I could not
oppose their scheme, though I had no heart to
counsel them to go on with it. The future
would be so unlike the past. These sensitive
naturesthese children as they were to me,
who had known them so long as children only
to be exposed to the rough-and-tumble of the
life of orphans, was bad enough under almost
any aspect of the case. But to be harassed by
the daily vexatious, and wearied by the daily
toils of the life of a seamstress, was more than
I could think of without tears; nnd I admired
the fortitude with which they addressed them-
selves to the work they had assumed.
Mrs. Benson was a friend indeed. She was
of one of the most influential families in my
flock, and had been the bosom friend of Mrs.
Bell while she was yet with us. Mrs. Benson
offered the girls a home, and when they de-
clined her generous proposal, she insisted on
their looking to her as to a mother in the future,
whatever might be the issue of the new and un-
tried experiment they were about to make. We
shall, however, overrate the heroism of the girls
if we measure it by the sacrifice of feeling which
such a mode of life would require at the pres-
ent time; In our rural village of a thousand
inhabitants, the girls would not be the less es-
teemed by any of the better sort of people for
their new employment. On the contrary, the
door of every house would be open to them,
and every voice would be one of kindness to
greet them when they came.
I shall die, I know I shall, said Mary, as
they were alone in the snug parlor of the old
homestead for the last time. I feel it here
as she laid her hand on her side, and pressed
her beating heart. I can never leave it, and
feel that it is to be no home of ours again.
But, Mary dear, said her more hopeful sis-
ter, we could not be at home if we staid here.
It is all gloomy now, and wbat there is to love
will be as much ours hereafter as it ever was.
These walks will be here, and these trees and
flowers, and we will often come and look on
them; for whoever lives here will never deny
us the privilege. And we are to do for ourselves
now. It is too soon to be discouraged. God
will help us, and that right early.
Yes, Sister Sarah, I know all that, and
more, but I am afraid. It is dreadful, this ga-
in out into the world alone. It looks so dark.
My head aches when I think of it. A great
black cloud seems to he hanging over us; and
sometimes I think I am growing blind, every
thin~ is so dark before metell me now, truly,
have you had no such fears ?
But I will not give them room in my
thoughts for a moment. They do come to
me, as to you, and sometimes they frighten me,
but I drive them away, and look to God for
strength. Fearful thoughts never come from
him. He is our father now, more than ever,
and has promised that he will never leave nor
forsake us.
Mary was silenced, but not satisfied. Sarah
could thus reason her into resignation, but it
was still very dark and trying; and, to her de.~
sponding nature, there was something in store
for them more terrible than they had yet ex-
perienced. The presentiment was dim and
might be idle, but it was deep-seated and ab-
sorbing. She said it was in her heart, but it
was in her brain. She often pressed her hand
hard on her forehead, and then thrust her head
into Sarahs bosom, not weeping, but asking her
sister to hide her from the terrible fate that
gathered about her, and threatened to blast
them both in the morning of their grief.
Iv-.
What will George say ? had been a ques-
tion often on Sarahs mind when coming to
this decision that she must be a seamstress.
George had never told her that he loved her,
but he had been kind and attentive, and a thou~
sand nameless acts had given her the assurance
that he was more to her than a friend. She
was not insensible. Sarah would have loved
him had he sought her love. Happily for her
own peace, he had made no advances, and when
he learned that she and her sister were not only
orphans but poor, he discovered that he had no
particular regard for either of them, and with
no words, left them to their fate. Perhaps this
blow to Sarahs hopes, for she had hopes, was
necessary to complete the misery of her por-
tion. A noble, faithful friend to stand by her
in such an hour, would have been like life to
the dead. There was no such stay for her now.
And the two sisters, finding that few friends
are born for adversity, prepared to go forth
hand-in-hand, and trusting only in God, to do
what they could for themselves.
Mrs. Benson was always ready for them with
plenty of work, when they had nothing to do.
elsewhere. She made it for them, not that she
had need of their aid, and so cheated them into
the belief that they were indispensable for her
comfort, while she was only ministering to theirs.
V.
Mrs. Flint was the housekeeper of Mrs. Ben-
son. She had now held this situation for many
years, never gaining the confidence of the lady
whose domestic afihirs she had superintended
with so much zeal and discretion, as to render
herself indispensable to the house. But she
was very far from securing the affections of any
of its inmates. A married daughter of hers in
the village was even less a favorite than she, in
the family of Mrs. Benson. Perhaps the evi-
dent partiality which Mrs. Benson had exhib-
ited for the young ladies, who were now her
protegfes, and her failure to interest Mrs. Ben-
son in her daughter, may have been the occa-
sion of a feeling of enmity which she had cher-
ished toward these girls ever since they had be-
come the occasional members of the family.
Yet it is needless to speculate upon the causes 68 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
which led to the indulgence of such feelings.
A bad heart affords the only explanation of the
phenomenon; for such it certainly appears to
any ~vho came to the knowledge of the fact that
a woman could cherish ia her heart a desire to
injure two unprotected orphans, whose helpless
situation and exceeding innocence of character
won for them the universal love and confidence
of the community. Without stopping, there-
fore, to speculate upon the causes of her enmi-
ty, it is enough to say that she conceived and
carried into execution a plan for the destruction
of their character. She accused them to Mrs.
Benson of having purloined many articles of
clothing; and when the declaration was made,
and was received by Mrs. Benson with indig-
nant exclamations of incredulity, she demanded
that the basket which they had brought with
them should be searched, and expressed her
willingness to abide by the result of the exam-
ination. She declared that she had seen one
of them coming from the wardrobe in the morn-
ing, and under circumstances that left no doubt
upon her own mind that she had been there for
no proper purpose.
More for the sake of convincing her house-
keeper of the innocence of those whom she had
so recklessly accused than with any idea of
makin a discovery that should even awaken
suspicion in her own mind, Mrs. Benson con-
sented to the search; and while the girls were
engaged upon their work below, Mrs. Benson
and the housekeeper proceeded to the apart-
ment which had heen occupied by the girls,
where Mrs. Flint immediately produced from
the bottom of the hasket the articles, of no great
value, to be sure, but enough to fix upon them
the guilt which Mrs. Flint had already imputed
to them. Still Mrs. Benson was not satisfied.
The confidence of years was not to be dashed,
even by such a disclosure as this. But what
could she say? Mrs. Flint, with vehemence,
insisted upon calling up the girls, setting hefore
them the evidence of their shame, and com-
pelling them, with the proof before their own
eyes, to confess their guilt.
Bewildered by the painful circumstances for
which she was utterly unable to account, and
hoping that they would be able to make some
explanation of the unpleasant facts, Mrs. Ben-
son consented to summon them to the chamber,
and to hear from their own lips such explana-
tion as they might be able to offer. At her
call, they came bounding into the room, with
conscious innocence in their faces, and wonder-
ing at the occasion of being summoned at such
an hour to meet Mrs. Benson in their own
room. She held up before them what would
appear to be indisputable evidence that they
had been seeking to rob their best friend; and
with tremblin~ voice and tearful eyes, she begged
them to tell her by what means these evidences
of their wrong had thus been secreted. To her
astonishment, they both received her inquiries
and disclosures with a ringing laugh. This
could mean only utter unconsciousness of evil,
if it were not the evidence of a hardened de-
pravity inconsistent with their previous history.
When they came, however, to view the sub-
ject in a more serious light, and to perceive the
necessity of giving some account of the circum-
stances in which they were involved, they could
do nothing more than to declare their utter
ignorance of the way and manner by which
they had so suddenly come into possession;
and looking at Mrs. Flint, whose eyes fell to
the floor when they attempted to catch her at-
tention, they united in the declaration that
some evil-disposed person must have secreted
the articles among their things for the purpose
of fastening upon them the suspicion of theft.
Mrs. Flint declared that no one excepting her-
self and Mrs. Benson had been in the house, or
had any access whatever to their apartments,
and it was quite impossible to suppose that these
things could be found there without hands;
and if not without hands, whose could they
have been, unless those of the young ladies in
whose possession these things had been so Jn-ev-
ideatially discovered?
But how came they to be discovered ? de-
mandeci the girls.
This was a question for which Mrs. Flint was
unprepared; but recovering herself, she said
that, for some time pa~t, her suspicions had
been excited by having missed various articles,
which she had never mentioned tq Mrs. Ben-
son, and which she was resolved not to mention
until she should be able to account for their
disappearance; that, accordingly, she had kept
her eye upon the girls since they came into the
house, and having noticed one of them this
morning under circumstances that led her to
suspect all was not right, she had taken the
liberty, in their absence from the room, of ex-
amining the apartment, and this was the result!
Roused by a sense of the great injustice which
had been done them, yet scarcely able to believe
that so much malice could be in the human
heart, unable to imagine a reason that could
prompt any hdman being to devise and execute
such a plan of mischief against them, they,
nevertheless, in conscious innocence, united in
charging upon Mrs. Flint, with courage which
injured virtue always summons to its own de-
fense, with having contrived this detestable
scheme for their ruin; and throwing themselves
upon the mercy and upon the neck of Mrs.
Benson, they begged her, for the sake of their
mother, now in heaven, for their own sakes
helpless and friendless as they were in the
worldnot to believe this terrible charge, of
which they declared themselves to he as guilt-
less as the spirit of her who bore them.
Mrs. Benson believed them. With all the
confidence of a mother, trusting in the purity
of daughters whose every word and action she
had known and loved from infancy, she took
them to her heart, and assured them that, how-
ever dark the circumstances might appear, how-
ever difficult it might be to explain them, she
would believe that God would yet make it plain, THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 69
and that whatever others might think, she for
one would cherish no suspicion.
This was a dark chapter in the history of the
orphans. Hitherto misfortune had followed fast
upon the heel of misfortune. The clouds had
returned after the rain ; hut the sorrows which
they had experienced had been such as left
them in the enjoyment of that priceless treas-
area character ahove reproach or suspicion.
Now, the cloud that hung over them was darker
than any which had ever yet obscured their
path. For they hegan to feel how ~vain would
he all their own efforts to stem the tide of ad-
versity, unless they had not only the present
consciousness of virtue, hut the sweet assurance
of the respect and confidence to which it would
entitle them.
It was a cheerless circle that surrounded the
table at Mrs. Bensons that evening; few words
were spoken, hut every heart was full of its own
reflections upon the events of the day, and their
probable influence upon the parties interested.
Mrs. Bensons mind was made up as to the course
it was her duty to pursue, with reference to the
woman, who, she had no doubt, was the evil
~,enius in her house, and to whose malignant
jealousy of the orphans she was compelled to
attribute this fiendish attempt at their ruin.
Still, she desired so to manage the affair as to
prevent any future mischief resulting to them
from the tongue of Mrs. Flint, when she should
dispense with her services in the house.
In the retirement of their chamher the sisters
wept together over this new sorrow; they sought
strength from God, to whom alone they had
learned to look for help in extremities; and,
hour after hour, as they lay in each others arms,
they sought to cheer one another with words
that did not speak the feelings of their hearts;
and it was not until long after midnight that
disturbed sleep gave them a hrief and imperfect
respite from the grief now thickening around
and upon them. It was impossible to escape
the apprehension that Mrs. Bensons confidence
in their integrity had been shaken; and they
could not but feel that, were she lost to them,
all on earth was lost; and then, so often had
they already been compelled to experience the
failure of all earthly friendship, they would seek
to persuade themselves that, even in the last
and most trying circumstances to which they
could be subjected, there was One ever ahove
and near them, to whom they might flee for
succor, and ~vhose promises, made to their
mother in her dying hour, would never fail.
A few days afterward Mrs. Flint took her
departure from the house of Mrs. Benson to
her married daughters dwelling, and made it
her home for the future. It was not long hefore
the sisters found that her tongue was husy; that
she had correctly interpreted the reason of her
dismissal; and now, snore than she ever had
done, sought to work their destruction for the
sake of revenge. Whatever might have been
the deficiency of motive in her case, when she
first meditated mischief, she had now abundant
excitement in the fact that the failure of her
scheme had wrought her own injury. Stung
by the mortification of her own discharge, she
sought to expend the violence and hitterness of
her own feelings in circulating, with malicious
expedition, in the community the story, which
would serve at once the double purpose of in-
juring the orphans, and accounting for her own
retirement from the service of Mrs. Benson.
The girls saw the effects hefore they beard the
cause. Friends in whose doors they had heen
welcomed now received them with coldness.
Those who had sought their services now fell
away, and they soon found themselves depend-
ent most entirely upon their truly maternal
friend, Mrs. Benson, who alone, of all the circle
in which they had formerly been received, stood
hy them. So wide-spread is the mischief which
an evil report occasions! It was in vain that
Mrs. Benson asserted her belief in the inno-
cence of the sisters. The community took the
side of her whom they believed to have been
unjustly accused; and to have heen discharged
when all the evidences of wrong were against
the parties whom Mrs. Benson had sheltered
with what they believed an over-weenin, con-
fidence.
VI.
So strong became the prejudice against these
unfortunate girls, that their employment gradu-
ally fell oft until it became evident that they
must he dependent upon Mrs. Benson for their
daily bread, or must seek, in some other place,
a more favorable opportunity of sustaining them-
selves. Their friend and patron kindly assisted
them in establishing themselves in a neighbor-
ing village, where it was believed they might
be able to pursue their work, and by degrees
gain the confidence of the community. But
with a vindictiveness rarely to be found in the
female sex, and painful to be contemplated wher-
ever observed, Mrs. Flint followed them to their
new home, and soon spread, in the community
where they were now seeking to establish for
themselves a character, the report that they bad
been compelled to leave their native village un-
der suspicions of dishonesty. They struggled
heroically against this new dispensation of evil,
but in vain. A few weeks had scarcely elapsed
hefore it became evident that they would be
utterly unable to make progress in this new.
field, and that the few friends whom they had
made were not proof against the insidious ef-
fects of slander, which was now undermining
them. Indeed, so strong became the popular
feeling of indignation against them, as suspicious
and dangerous young women who bad come into
the place, because they were unable to live in
another where they were better known, that
the house in which they lodged was surrounded
by a mob, and demonstrations of violence were
made! When they beard the alarm which
came up from the street, and were told that
they were the occasion of the disturbance,
tremblinn lest they might be the victims of
personal violence, their fright became insup 70 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
portable. Mary, the less excitable of the two,
sat moody and speechless.
They are coming ! at last she exclaimed;
they are coming for ns. We shall be driven
out; J)erhaps we shall be killed. What shall
we do?
Sarah, more excited, but always more hope-
ful, strove to allay her alarm, beseeching her
not to lose her trust in God, but tQ hope for the
best. Through the help of the man whose house
they were dwelling in, Sarah succeeded, after a
while, in inducing the rioters in the street to re-
tire, after having given them the assurance that
they would on the next day return to the vil-
lage from which they had come.
But they had to be taken there. And it was
a month before that could be done. The fear-
ful presentiment of some greater sorrowthe
great black cloudwas made realMary was
laid upon a bed of suffering with a brain fever,
and Sarah was, by turns, a gentle and then a
raving maniac! God help the orphans!
yIJ.
A year in their native village passes by.
They are now hopelessly deranged. Wan-
dering in the streets, singing loose and ribald
songsa source of intensest grief to all those
who had known them in the loveliness of their
childhood and youththey were objects also of
the tenderest compassion; and had there been
at this time any provision for the care and cure
of the insane, doubtless they would have found
a refnge in some such asylum. Human skill
had not yet contrived such institutions, and the
insane were only prevented from doing injuries
to others by bela ~ con fined among the most
miserable and degraded of the public poor. As
the girls umuifested no disposition to do vio-
lence to others, and were cheerful rather than
gloomy in their madness, they were suffered to
go at large; and many sought, by kindness, to
win them back again to a state of quietness
and peace. Often, when led by the hand of
friendship into the house of those who would
care for them, they were known to leap from
the windows into the street, as if apprehensive
of being confined.
As yet, they were never, even in their worst
state, insensible to the voice of love. My own
house was freely opened to them as a home,
where I sought, by all the assiduity which my
affection for their parents could suggest, to ad-
minister the balm of comfort, if I could not
furnish the balm of healing, to their wounded
minds.
One instance occurs to me of peculiar inter-
est. They were invited, as not unfrequently
they had been before, to spend a social evening
with some of the young people of the village;
and in the midst of the lively associations
of the evening, their spirits seemed to revive.
Something of their former gentleness and love-
liness began to return. Yet now, so far had
the work of ruin gone on in the minds of these
young girls, that they not only had forgotten
many of their early friends and associates, but,
strange to say, they had forgotten the relation-
ship between themselves. They knew each
other only as companions. At the close of the
evening, they were invited to spend the night
at the house where the entertainment had been
given; and after retiring to bed, and lying in
each others arms, soothed by the pleasures
which they had been enjoying, and the circum-
stances of comfort by which they found them-
selves surrounded, a calm serenity of mind stole
over them, fond memory came back with all its
sweet influences, and gradually the truth broke
in upon their souls that they were sisters! In
mutual recognition, and in the fullness of that
affection, which had been uninterrupted from
infancy, they spent the most of the night in de-
lightful union of spirit, forgetfnl, of course, of
all that had occurred in the hours and months
of their delirium; yet remembering that some
great sorrow had once shed its gloom over their
minds, and that they were now in the midst of
friends and l)leasmes, which it was their privi-
lege to enjoy. They rose in the morning re-
freshed by a night, not of sleep, but of sweet
peace. Alas! it was but for a night! Before
the day was gone, the cloud gathered over them
once more; delirium seized them; they rushed
forth from the house of their protector and
friend, and again in the streets of the village,
renewed their wild mirth, piercing the ears and
the hearts of those who heard them.
VIII.
It was now late in the summer. Mrs. Flint
had been for some weeks confined to her bed
with a wasting fever. I was sent for to see her,
and was out in the country visiting a parishioner
some miles from my home. I had seen her
several times during her sickness, and was well
convinced that her disease would have a fatal
termination. As soon as I returned home and
learned that I had been sent for, I hastened to
the cottage; as I entered, a scene of strange
and thrilling interest was before my eyes. The
woman was dying; kneeling at her bedside
were these t~vo wild girls.
I soon learned the facts that had brought
them there under such strange and exciting
circumstances. rhey bad been wandering, as
usual, through the streets; and when the sound
of their mirth broke in upon the hearing of the
dying woman, she inquired what it was. Being
told that Sarah and Mary Bell were carmying
on as they were accustomed to, she started at
the mention of their names, and begged that
they might be called in. They came at the
call, and without hesitation a1)proached the bed
on which their enemy and destroyer was now
stretched, in hourly expectation of death.
I DID IT ! said Mrs. Flint~, it is all my
work; and here, as I ama now about to leave
this world and go into the presence of God, I
would not go without clearing these girls of that
great sin which I laid to their charge, but which
God knows they are as innocent of as the angels
in his presence. I did it, I DID IT~ it was all
my work. THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 71
The girls were evidently affected deeply by
the sight before them, and the tones of her
voice; and as she repeated again and again her
asseverations of their innocence and her own
guilt, they began to comprehend the nature of
the scene that was transpiring. It pleased God
to give them just at this hour, and doubtless
through the influence of the communication
which they were receiving, at least a temporary
deliverance from the darkness and delirium in
which they had so long been lost. He restored
peace and a measure of strength to their minds,
enabling them to receive and to understand the
blessed truth, that evidence was coming, thougl~
from the verne of the grave, to deliver them
from the wrongs they had suffered. They took
her extended hands in their own; they knelt
upon the floor by her side; they assured her,
even in their wretchedness and their ruin, that
they would forgive her; and they prayed Heav-
en to grant her forgiveness ere her soul should
take its departure.
It was at this juncture that I entered the
room. The moment Mrs. Flint caught my eye
she renewed her protestations of the innocence
of the girls, told me how for years she had car-
ried the pangs of remorse in her own breast
how often she had desired to do them justice,
and to seek peace for her own conscience; but
her selfishness and her pride had always over-
come her better resolutions, and she had wit-
nessed, month after month, the dreadful fruits
of her sin, and feared continually that the judg-
ments of God would overtake her. Here, on
her sick bed, and in view of death, when no
other considerations than those which attended
preparation for the grand event which was just
before her were allowed to have any power
upon her mind, she had been driven to this last
and dying confession, which, while it would
relieve her own mind of the burden under
which she was sinking, would restore to those
unhappy girls the priceless treasure of a char-
acter which they had lost; thoug~h she be-
lieved, as I did, that it was too late to hope
that the restoration of their character would
bring them back the treasure of reason, which
there was too much reason to fear was irre-
trievably lost.
What could I add to this revelation, than
which nothing could be more solemn or affect-
ing? Here were all the accessaries of a sub-
lime, yet painful drama. The dying woman,
with her sharp, haggard features, her piercing,
agonized eyes, looking now at the girls, and
now upward as if she would look into the other
world, striving to read the destiny upon which
she was about to enter, now turning to me ~vith
imploring glance, and asking me to direct her,
even in her extremity, to some way by which
she might find forgiveness and peace, now seek-
ing to reassure the helpless daughters of sorrow
yet kneeling before her, that God would be their
father and their portion, saying that she could
die with contentment if she could have some
reason to believe that her death would be the
means of giving back to them the life which
they had lost.
In vain was it for me to offer a word of con-
solation. Indeed, there was none to he spoken.
I directed her, as I would any lost sinner in the
hour of calamity, to the only refuge, and be-
sought her to seek in the Saviour the only
source of peace.
When the girls arose from their knees, and
were about to leave the house, she besought
them to remain, and even required from them a
promise that they would not leave her while she
lived. With gentle kindness they began to per-
form the part of nurses around the sick-bed, and,
with unaccustomed ministries, they soothed her
sufferings, and gradually seemed to bring her to
the enjoyment of something like peace of mind.
But this was temporary. Soon the paroxysms
of anguish came back with redoubled force; and
in words too strong to be repeated, and such only
as dying pains extort from consciences ill at
ease anticipating greater anguish near at hand;
fearful of the present, and more fearful still of
that which is to come, she cried again and again,
It was I that did it; it was I that did it; it
was all my work. And so she died.
Ix.
I took the girls home with me, and emhraced
this present lucid interval to make a grand ex-
periment, in the faint hope of securing their
permanent restoration. Nothing had occurred
since their derangement which afforded so good
ground to believe that there might be a basis
laid for a permanent cure. They could be as-
sured that all suspicions formerly resting upon
their character were now removed, and they
would enjoy the universal confidence and love
of those who had been their friends, and their
mothers friends, in the day of their prosperity
and joy. I told them that my house was to be
their home; I gave them their chamber; I gave
them such light work as would occupy their
minds, and in the cultivation of flowers in the
garden, in the pursuit of such studies as they
were always fond of and in the society of kind
and genial friends, I sought to surround them
with those pleasant influenceswhich would cheer
and console, and gently aid in their perfect re-
covery.
Among the many friends who were in the
habit of visiting at my house, from the city of
New York, was a merchant of large means and
extensive business. His wife had died a year
after their marriage, and he had led a single life
for five or six years. It was not among the
remotest of my suspicions that he should think
of finding a second wife in my house, and
in one of these unfortunate yet lovely young
ladies.
But there is no accounting for tastes or sym-
pathies. Mr. Whitfield was a man long accus-
tomed to think for himself, and not given to
askin the opinions of others till after his own
mind was made up. Then it was too late to
shake his resolution, whatever the force of the
motives urged against it. He knew the story of 72 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
the Bells, and that story had first awakened his
sympathy, his pity, and prepared the way for
love. V~ hen he broached the subject to me, I
begged him to dismiss it at once and forever
from his mind. But he respectfully declined,
telling me he had counted the cost, and was pre-
pared for the risks.
Although there had been great improvement
in the health and appearance of both Sarah and
Mary since the death of Mrs. Flint, they were
still liable to returns of the fearful malady; and
Mr. Whitfield had his resolution put to the se-
verest test, as soon as ho ventured upon the
experiment of making known his intentions to
Sarah, the object of his choice. He had in-
vited her to ride with him. They drove out of
the village, passing the door of the house in
which Mrs. Flint had died. Sarah had never en-
tered it since that terrible hour when she and
her poor sister closed the eyes of the wretched
woman. The memories of that scene, and of
all they had passed through in the years of their
former struggles and trials, came rushing upon
her mind, and she began to talk wildly, and
then madly; and soon she became frantic, and
strove to leap from the carriage, and would have
done so but for the main force of her friend and
companion, who trembled at the brink on which
he was standing.
Still he was not disheartened. He hastened
back with his charge to my house, and told me
of the excitement into which Sarah had been
thrown, and the danger from which she had
been rescued. He was deeply affected. He
was in trouble. And yet, said he, in spite
of all this, I believe that if she were once more
in a home of her own, and surrounded with the
duties and pleasures of the household, her mind
would become settled, and she would be restored
to the enjoyment of health and reason.
I assured him that, next to my own children,
I desired their happiness before all others, hut I
could not advise him to take a step which might
make him miserable, without adding to the en-
joyment of her, who could not be a wife such
as he desired, unless God should give her hack
the permanent possession of her once cultivated,
and now disordered mind.
He returned in a week or two, with his pur-
pose unchanged. He asked Sarah again to ride
with him; and this time she seemed to enjoy
the world around her, and to enter into the
spirit of nature as its beauties met her eyes.
The birds were happy, and she spoke of their
gladness as she saw and heard them. The fields
seemed to clap their hands. Sarah was joyful
in the midst of a world of joy. They rode to
Passaic Falls, at Patterson, in the State of New
Jersey. The deep roar of the waters as they
approached, ~as a solemn music that subdued
and stilled her soul. They walked out upon the
wide flat rocks through which the river makes
its broken plunge, and instead of being terrified
she gloried in the excitement of the scene. She
spoke of the spray as a cloud of incense rising
from these eternal altars, and ever praising Him
who sits in the heavens, and listens to the music
of all his works. They came to the edge of the
precipice, and Mr. Whitfield pointed out to her
the very spot where, a few months previously, a
bride had fallen from the side of her husband,
and had been dashed to pieces on the rocks be-
low. She looked down with steady nerves, and
said that it was a fearful fall, and more fearful to
him who remained when his bride was gone!
He led her cautiously, and by a winding path
to the bottom of the ravine, whence they could
look up to the brow of the black jagged rocks,
from which the white waters were tumbling
through the green fringes of stunted trees and
bushes that clung to the sides of the clefts.
And here, in the roar of the fall, as she was
rejoicing in the wonderful beauty of the scenes
around her, he began his declaration.
You are not serious, surely, she cried, in
mingled fear and surprise, as he intimated that
he desired her love, and would be only too happy
to give her his fortune and his hand. You
do not know my story, or you could not dream
of such a proposal.
I know it all; it was that story which first
led me to think of devoting my life to yours;
and if you will cast in your lot with me, you
shall find that I will be parent, brother, hus-
band, all in one.
It is altogether out of the question, she
returned. I do not love you; I do not know
that I could love. This thought of love is one
that I have not known since those happy days
before the clouds came. You did not know
that lever loved?
Yes, I have heard that one all unworthy of
you once sought you, and that he fled when the
day of your adversity came. I would come to
you in the midst of your sorrow, and win you
to a home of peace and joy. I have the means
of surrounding you with all that you can desire,
and my life shall be spent in making yours as
happy as you ever dreamed of being.
But ybn have not counted the cost; you
know not what you are proposing; I am a poor,
weak thing; and I have even been told that my
sister and I are sometimes deranged. I do not
know what it is, or why it is, but I have strange,
dreadful thoughts sometimes; and these have
been more frequent and more terrible since the
time when Mary and I were accused of a crime
of which we were altogether innocent. You
will not be so rash as to think of taking such a
wild, thoughtless woman as I am to your home,
even if I could assure you that the affection you
promise could be returned in all its sincerity
and strength.
Still he pressed his suit. In the honesty of
his heart he felt he had now committed him-
seW and even if he had been staggered in his
purpose by the serious objections she had so
rationally raised, and urged with so much earn-
estness, he was hound to go forward. And
never did the girl appear to him more lovely
than when, with such delicate appreciation of
his motives, and tempted as she must be by his THE SISTERS: A PARSONS STORY. 73
proposals, she still resisted his appeals, and left
him an open door to retreat. He renewed his
entreaties.
But there is my sister Mary, who was with
me in our childhood, the companion of all my
sorrowsI will never, never leave her.
And you shall not leave her. She will go
with us to our own home, and he my sister as
well as yours. Instead of losing a sister, she
will find a brother.
Sarah was deeply affected. It seemed to her
that God was in this thing, and that the dark
clouds which had so long hung over her were
now clearing away, and a new light was break-
ing upon her path. Yet she could not yield to
the offers so pressed upon her till she had con-
sulted her friends, and she finally promised to
he governed by my advice iu the matter. She
was calm and cheerful as they came home to-
gether that evening. I should not have sus-
pected that any thing unusual had passed be-
tween them. But after the sisters had retired
for the night, and I was left alone with Mr.
Whitfield, lie told me of the events of the day,
and begged me to aid him in procuring Sarahs
consent to their union. He knew well that I
had already advised him against the proposal;
but now he was more than ever infatuated with
the conviction, that the restoration of the sisters
to the calm pleasures of a house they might
call their own, would he the means of getting
them health and pence. To all prudential con-
siderations he turned a deaf ear; and I was
obliged to tell him that it was impossible for
me to object, if he was willing to take the re-
sponsibility upon himself.
With a new and admiring sense of the ways
of Divine Providence, I looked upon the change
that was about to take place in the situation of
these poor sisters, and said to myself seriously,
as I thought over the ways by which they had
been led, is there, indeed, any thing too hard
for the Lord? Who would have believed that
such a door of deliverance from poverty and
suffering would he opened? Who would have
thought that one of these orphans, a few months
ago, wandering in the streets, and raving in the
wildness of delirium, would now he songht after
by a man of character and wealth, laying his
fortune at her feet, and offering to share his
house with her sister, so that both should be
equally the recipients of blessings which Heaven
is so kindly bestowing? Here was the promise
of God most strikingly fulfilled: Leave thy
fatherless children, I will keep them alive ;
When my father and my mother forsake me,
then the Lord ~viil take me up. There had
been many long and painful years, when it
might be feared that these promises had been
forgotten. So deep had been the extremity of
their destitution, and so hopeless their condi-
tion, I had looked forward to their death as the
first release they could have from sorrow. Such
a termination was far more probable than that
one of them should win the love of a noble-
hearted man who would take her to hixnself
and surround her with the sweets of social and
domestic life. But if all this is, indeed, in store
for these orphan sisters, far be it from me to
say a word, except to pray God to bless them
both, and give them a respite from the miseries
which have so long been their portion.
During the interval of three months that
followed this eventful day, there was a daily
and marked improvement in time sisters. The
vivacity of childhood, without the levity of their
wandering years, returned; they were them-
selves again. And when Sarah at length gave
her consent, and stood up before me to he joined
in marriage to the man who had thus nobly
called her to be his own, I said to him, I give
you Sarah to he your wife, and Mary to be your
sister. And he replied, I will be faithful to
both until death shall separate us.
If any part of this narrative has had the
appearance of romance, much more like it is
that which is now to be recorded. But if I
have not already given the assurance, it may
be well to say here, that I am following out the
events of real life, and there are many now
living who will read and attest, if needful, the
truth of these strange facts.
Among the guests at the marriage of Sarah
was a younger brother of her husband, his
partner in business, and with the same bright
prospects. He stood up by the side of his
brother, and Sarah was supported by her sister.
In less than a month from that time the order
was changed, and the younger Whitfield and
Mary stood side by side, and plighted their
vows in the presence of God, and surrounded
by a glad and admiring circle of friends, who
could not conceal their grateful recognition of a
merciful providence in the marriage of these
two sisters under circumstances of such extraor-
dinary interest.
A short time afterward I saw them settled
in their new homes. They lived in adjoining
houses in one of the pleasantest streets of the
city, then quite down town, where now the
march of business has driven out the old set-
tlers, desecrated the firesides hallowed by a
thousand sacred associations, and converted the
sanctuary of love into temples of Mammon.
x.
And here I would be willing to close this
record, and leave my young friends in the bliss
with which at length their lives are crowned.
It is wonderful, Sarah said to me as I
called to see her in her beautiful mansion.
It is wonderful! Row strangely God has led
us, and now we are as happy as we have ever
been miserable in the years that are past! Do
you believe that my dear mother knows what
we have passed through, and what we are en-
joying now?
I told her I had often indulged the idea that
the spirits of the departed were conversant with
our spiritsthat they are indeed ministering
spirits to those whom they loved while in the
flesh, and it was not impossible that her mother
had followed her in all her eventful and mys 74 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
t.erious history. Even now she may be near
and rejoicing that peace and joy had at last
visited the hearts of her daughters, and out of
great tribulation they were already brought to
happiness they had never dreamed of.
It was a short year after Marys marriage
when the birth of a child promised to fill the
cup of her thanksgiving. Others rejoiced, and
vet she did not seem to be happy in the pros-
pect, nor when it was laid in her arms, did she
give it more than a melancholy smile of satis-
faction. Instead of fondling it with the yearn-
ing tenderness of a young mother, she looked
on it calmly, but with a fixedness of interest,
that was snore full of anxiety than affection.
Days and weeks went by and this moodiness
increased. She was able now to sit up, and
when the infant was lying on her knees or in
the cradle hy her side, she would sit by the
hour and watch it steadily, without a word, but
often sighing as if some great sorrow was in the
future of her childs history, into which she was
lookin~. Slowly but steadily and in the lapse
of weeks and months, she sank into melancholy
gloom. No art of medicine, no kind devotion
of a faithful husband, no swect ministries of a
large and loving circle of friends could raise her
up, or dispel the cloud that gathered over her
spirit. The child was removed from her sight,
hut it was all the same to her. She never asked
for it, seemed never to think of it unless it was
in her sight. Foreign travel was proposed, and
Mr. Whitfield earnestly strove to prevail on her
to go xvith him abroad. But to all such invita-
tions she was indifferent. She must have been
carried by force, or she would never have been
taken from the room where in profound reverie
she sat, day after day, without interest in the
world around her, or even in those nearest to
her fireside.
Sarah was not careless for her sisters state,
hut alas, by that strange fatality which had
hitherto followed them both, making them one
in suffering as they were also one in the few
joys that were theirs in life, she too, began to
shoxv signs of returning madness! What was
the secret principle thus linking their destinies?
In childhood they had been as one in love and
innocence. In youth they had been crushed,
together and by the same blow. In womanhood
they had hoth found loving hearts, fraternal
hearts, that gave them a shelter, a home, and
all the sympathies of a noble conjugal affection.
And now when the great struggle of life was
past, and they were in the midst of joys that
even in the dreams of childhood they had
never thought of, the darkness is coming on
again, and other hearts besides their own are
to he shrouded in the approaching gloom.
Marxs child died in its first year. Mary did
not shed a tear. It was no more to her than
the child of a stran ncr. She xvas now silent
and sullen. She never complained, but it xvas
gradually apparent that disease was making,
pro~re5s. She took to her bed, and a slow
fever wore out her life. She died three months
after her child, and less than two years after
her marriage.
Sarahs malady had a widely different de-
velopment. Naturally more excitable than her
sister, she had in former days heen more wild
and gay in the seasons of their derangement.
Now she was wilder than ever. She became
uncontrollable by the friends who surrounded
her. There was no asylum into which she
could be placed; the insane at that time were
confined only among paupers or criminals, or
in hospitals under circumstances the most un-
favorable to their recovery. Her faithful hus-
band, as tender in his affections and devoted
as xvhen be first won her, sought to restrain her
hy gentle assiduity, striving to conceal from
others, when he could no longer hide frem his
own mind, the terrible fact that she was mad.
But her madness wore a humorous rather than
a mischievous type for some months. She
would enter the parlor while he was on his
knees conducting the devotions of the house-
hold, and leap on his back as if in the exuber-
ance of childish spirits, and frolic there, laugh-
ing while his heart was breaking. They put a
strait-waistcoat upon her, but she would con-
trive to get it off and throxv it through the
xvindow, and threaten to leap out herself if it
was ever put on her again.
The Hospital in Broadway at the head of
Pearl Street was then nexv, and after long hesi-
tation, and acting under the advice of the best
physicians, Mr. Whitfield xvas at last prevailed
upon to consent to her removal there. He ob-
tained the most desirable apartment on the
southeast corner, in one of the upper stories;
and having furnished it with every appliance
for her safety and comfort, he consigned her to
the care of the medical men in that institution
when it xvas no longer possible for him to keep
her in any comfort at home. But he could not
rest in his own mansion while the wife of his
bosom, whom he so tenderly loved, was in a
public hospital, alone and crazed. Night after
night be walked the street in front of the build-
ing in which she was confined, looking up at
the window in her narroxv chamber, sometimes
fancying that he saw her struggling to force her
way through, and expecting to see her Ilunging
headlong from that fearful height. By degrees
her strength gave way; and when she was no
longer able to be violent in her paroxysms of
madness, he had the melancholy satisfaction
of again taking her to his own house. Directly
over his own bedehamber he had an apartment
prepared for her, and thither she xvas conveyed,
and watched by suitable attendants. When by
the silence of her chamber he knew that she
was asleep, he would often steal up from his
own room, and sitting down in a large easy
chair near the bed, he would look upon the
wreck of his lovely bride, weeping over the
change, and praying that even now, in her
hopeless and helpless state, the power of God
might be revealed for relief and restoration.
The first sweet years of their union would then THE TREE OF LIFE. 75
cease to his memory, when something whispered
to him of his rashness in linking to himself one
whose mind was shattered, whatever might be
her virtues and her charms; and he thanked
God that it had been his privilege, even for that
brief period, to make her a home, and fill her
heart with peace and joy.
One night he was sitting there, and musing,
perhaps somewhat encouraged by having been
told that through the day she had been calmer,
and at intervals apparently rational. Now she
was sleeping, more sweetly than he had known
her in many months. And as he leaned his
head back in the chair, wearied with long
and anxious waking, he fell asleep. When he
awoke, his wife was sitting on his knees; her
arms were around his neck. She pressed her
lips to his, and said to him, My dear, dear
husband. It was the first recognition of many
long and awful months. He pressed her warm-
ly, convulsively to his heart.
Sing to me, she said; sing to me one of
those Sabbath evening songs.
I can not sing, dearest, he replied; it is
enonab that you are mine again, and here, here
on my breast, dearest, sweetest wife. Her
head fell on his shoulder, and he poured into
her ear the glowing words of his love.
Oh, these months of wretchedness, when
you could not know that I loved you, and
longed to bless you, dearest, as I will, if God
will spare you, as he has restored you to my
arms. Kiss me again, sweet wife.
She did not speak. Kiss me, love. Her
head still rested on his shoulder. He raised
her up to press his lips to hers. She was dead!
THE TREE OF LIFE.
THERE lived, in the times of King James, a
wondrously open-hearted nobleman in Old
England. He belonged to the ancient family of
the Montgomerys, and was horn to wealth, rank,
and high honor. But a sad and melancholy fate
befell him. By an accident the ribs of his left
side were crushed, and he was laid for months
upon the bed of sickness. Physicians, it is true,
saved his life, but, strange enough, a large open-
ing remained in his breast, which the unfortu-
nate man had to cover with a plate of silver. It
so happened that there livcd at the same court
a man of Isigh renown nnd anxious research,
who heard of the noblemans strange adventure.
He met him, laid his finger upon his wrist, so as
to feel the heating of his pulse, and then, through
the aperture in his chest, he watched the vibra-
tions of his heart. They kept time! They
were one and the same! He had found the
great secret for which his heart had yearned,
and which Isis mind had longed to discover.
From that day Harvey proclaimed it aloud to
the world, that the blood of man passed, in
never-ceasing currents, through every nook and
every corner of his marvelous body; and, setting
us a noble example, he exclaimed with deep
Antiquity had already suspected that the
blood circulated from Ilace to place, butas in
religion so in sciencethis also was ascribed to
chance rather than to design. Some thought
that it rose and fell, like the sap in plants, only
when a necessity for warmth or food arose;
others fancied that it might be made to come
and go at will, as the bashful blush may be con-
jured up into the glowing cheek, or fierce pas-
sions swell the dark vein on proud mens brow.
They even knew the difference between arte-
ries and veins, but they imagined the former to
be filled with air onlyhence their namebe-
cause after death they found them empty, while
the veins were swelled with the generous fluid
of life. Even that exquisite provision of nature,
the thousand delicate valves which regulate the
flow of the blood to and from the heart, had
become known to the learned of Italy and
France. Yet with all this previous knowledge,
and with the thoughtful boldness of a pioneer in
unknown regions, even Harvey had only sus-
pected that the bloods course might be a com-
plete circle, unbroken within, and steadily pur-
suing its truly wondrous race from cradle to
coffin. His triumph was mainly one of inductive
reasoning. As, in our day, the mathematician
fixed a place and a time for a new planet, long
before the eye of man could see it and his
mind presume its existence, so harvey also first
determined the principle that the blood must
flow both from and to the heart, and then found
evidence and abundant proof in the living body.
But we would err much if we believed that
this greatest discovery ever made in the history
of the life of man was at once received with ap-
~L~z3 by the learned and the enlightened.
Alas! that men should be so loth to see what a
noble source of pleasure, what an enviable talent
it is, to be able to admire! The world, so far
from being thankful, rose in a perfect tempest
against the royal physician. France claimed
the discovery as long known to the ancients;
Italy denounced it as a terrible heresy. But
Harvey was not to be awed as the great mar-
tyrs of science before him. Had not Galileo,
at whose bid the earth moved in her heavenly
path, composed horoscopes, and spoken the
fatal words of renunciation? I-lad not Kepler,
the very master of the heavens, as his admiring
called him, t~u~ht with u
countrymen , ublushing
brow, that the earth was a living animal, whose
passions might be roused into fierce tempests,
and whose fury would break forth in terrible
earthquakes, it stones were thrown into deep
abysses, and curses murmured over placid lakes?
Had he not proclaimed it to a credulous world
that the universe was a music of spheres, vith a
gigantic chorus, in which Jupiter and Saturn
sang bass, while Mars was the tenor, Venus and
Earth the alto-voices, and Mercury the soprano?
Harvey braved all: opposition, denial, and bit-
ter satire. Books he refuted, sneers lie despised,
and when his enemies said that no physician
fervor: I will praise Thee, for I am wonder- over forty years of age would ever adopt his
fully made ! doctrine, he boldly appealed from skeptic old

The Tree of Life75-81

THE TREE OF LIFE. 75
cease to his memory, when something whispered
to him of his rashness in linking to himself one
whose mind was shattered, whatever might be
her virtues and her charms; and he thanked
God that it had been his privilege, even for that
brief period, to make her a home, and fill her
heart with peace and joy.
One night he was sitting there, and musing,
perhaps somewhat encouraged by having been
told that through the day she had been calmer,
and at intervals apparently rational. Now she
was sleeping, more sweetly than he had known
her in many months. And as he leaned his
head back in the chair, wearied with long
and anxious waking, he fell asleep. When he
awoke, his wife was sitting on his knees; her
arms were around his neck. She pressed her
lips to his, and said to him, My dear, dear
husband. It was the first recognition of many
long and awful months. He pressed her warm-
ly, convulsively to his heart.
Sing to me, she said; sing to me one of
those Sabbath evening songs.
I can not sing, dearest, he replied; it is
enonab that you are mine again, and here, here
on my breast, dearest, sweetest wife. Her
head fell on his shoulder, and he poured into
her ear the glowing words of his love.
Oh, these months of wretchedness, when
you could not know that I loved you, and
longed to bless you, dearest, as I will, if God
will spare you, as he has restored you to my
arms. Kiss me again, sweet wife.
She did not speak. Kiss me, love. Her
head still rested on his shoulder. He raised
her up to press his lips to hers. She was dead!
THE TREE OF LIFE.
THERE lived, in the times of King James, a
wondrously open-hearted nobleman in Old
England. He belonged to the ancient family of
the Montgomerys, and was horn to wealth, rank,
and high honor. But a sad and melancholy fate
befell him. By an accident the ribs of his left
side were crushed, and he was laid for months
upon the bed of sickness. Physicians, it is true,
saved his life, but, strange enough, a large open-
ing remained in his breast, which the unfortu-
nate man had to cover with a plate of silver. It
so happened that there livcd at the same court
a man of Isigh renown nnd anxious research,
who heard of the noblemans strange adventure.
He met him, laid his finger upon his wrist, so as
to feel the heating of his pulse, and then, through
the aperture in his chest, he watched the vibra-
tions of his heart. They kept time! They
were one and the same! He had found the
great secret for which his heart had yearned,
and which Isis mind had longed to discover.
From that day Harvey proclaimed it aloud to
the world, that the blood of man passed, in
never-ceasing currents, through every nook and
every corner of his marvelous body; and, setting
us a noble example, he exclaimed with deep
Antiquity had already suspected that the
blood circulated from Ilace to place, butas in
religion so in sciencethis also was ascribed to
chance rather than to design. Some thought
that it rose and fell, like the sap in plants, only
when a necessity for warmth or food arose;
others fancied that it might be made to come
and go at will, as the bashful blush may be con-
jured up into the glowing cheek, or fierce pas-
sions swell the dark vein on proud mens brow.
They even knew the difference between arte-
ries and veins, but they imagined the former to
be filled with air onlyhence their namebe-
cause after death they found them empty, while
the veins were swelled with the generous fluid
of life. Even that exquisite provision of nature,
the thousand delicate valves which regulate the
flow of the blood to and from the heart, had
become known to the learned of Italy and
France. Yet with all this previous knowledge,
and with the thoughtful boldness of a pioneer in
unknown regions, even Harvey had only sus-
pected that the bloods course might be a com-
plete circle, unbroken within, and steadily pur-
suing its truly wondrous race from cradle to
coffin. His triumph was mainly one of inductive
reasoning. As, in our day, the mathematician
fixed a place and a time for a new planet, long
before the eye of man could see it and his
mind presume its existence, so harvey also first
determined the principle that the blood must
flow both from and to the heart, and then found
evidence and abundant proof in the living body.
But we would err much if we believed that
this greatest discovery ever made in the history
of the life of man was at once received with ap-
~L~z3 by the learned and the enlightened.
Alas! that men should be so loth to see what a
noble source of pleasure, what an enviable talent
it is, to be able to admire! The world, so far
from being thankful, rose in a perfect tempest
against the royal physician. France claimed
the discovery as long known to the ancients;
Italy denounced it as a terrible heresy. But
Harvey was not to be awed as the great mar-
tyrs of science before him. Had not Galileo,
at whose bid the earth moved in her heavenly
path, composed horoscopes, and spoken the
fatal words of renunciation? I-lad not Kepler,
the very master of the heavens, as his admiring
called him, t~u~ht with u
countrymen , ublushing
brow, that the earth was a living animal, whose
passions might be roused into fierce tempests,
and whose fury would break forth in terrible
earthquakes, it stones were thrown into deep
abysses, and curses murmured over placid lakes?
Had he not proclaimed it to a credulous world
that the universe was a music of spheres, vith a
gigantic chorus, in which Jupiter and Saturn
sang bass, while Mars was the tenor, Venus and
Earth the alto-voices, and Mercury the soprano?
Harvey braved all: opposition, denial, and bit-
ter satire. Books he refuted, sneers lie despised,
and when his enemies said that no physician
fervor: I will praise Thee, for I am wonder- over forty years of age would ever adopt his
fully made ! doctrine, he boldly appealed from skeptic old 76 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
age to the faith of the young, and soon gathered
a host around him, that fonght his battles and
raised his standard on high. His triumph came
at last. Before he died his fiercest adversaries
acknowledged the truth of his theory. But as
the great servant of the Lord was not allowed to
go over thither into the valley of Jericho and
the city of palm-trees, so Harvey also saw with
his minds eye only, but never beheld himself
what he had abstractly proved. He had for-
feited the desired hoon. Tired of life, and
threatened with total blindness, he rushed un-
bidden from a world he knew to that which he
knew not. The wondrous sight of the blood
rushing restlessly through vein and artery was
reserved to a later age; the microscope had to
be invented, and Malpighi first stood amazed
before the greatest marvel that science had re-
vealed to his age.
In our day the famous words of antiquity,
Know thyself, have obtained a new signifi-
cance. We limit them no longer to abstract
speculations on mind and soul. We remember
that it is the Lords hand that has made us and
fashioned us; that lie has clothed us with
skiu and flesh, and fenced us with bones and
sinews. So the inscription on the temple of
Delphi remains still, in a double sense, the high-
est task for human inquiry. And yet how few
there are who known the ways of their heart,
and the paths of their lifes-blood. Pascal al-
ready said, with wonder and grief, that he had
suffered in loneliness and silence when studying
abstract sciences. lie bad there no friend hy
his side, no companion in his journey. Alas!
he found that there were even fewer who cared
for the wondrous body of man, and his immor-
tal soul, than he had met with in the arid
desert of mathematics.
Nor was it found an easy task to solve the
great mysteries of a body made after the image
of God. Errors and fanciful notions vied with
each other to keep truth out of sight. Now the
blood was said to follow in its wild erratic course
the heavenly path of planets and comets, and
the body of man became an orrery on a small
scale. Then again men of learning and wisdom
created in their unhelieviag heart a Vital
Power of their owna true Proteus, every
where present, and yet nowhere to be found. It
was, however, so convenient! This secret agent
drove the blood from limb to limb, it breathed
in our lungs, it digested our food, it upheld us
in health, and it resisted, in sickness, the foes
of life with strange, most disagreeable symp-
toms. The world was still the same that would
not adopt Keplers Chart of the heavens, and
yet paid him for his readfng of the stars; that
refused to admit the earths motion around the
sun, but humbly believed that St. Dunstan had
pulled the devils nose with a i)air of red-hot pin-
cers! We fear that even now mankind is some-
what tethered to the stump of old supersti-
tions ; at all events, our knowledge of our own
body is still strangely imperfect. We can clams
no more than that
We are able to sin ey
IJawniags of beams, and promises of day.
This only we know surely, that there are two
great operations going on in our body: The
nervous system works in marvelous and yet
unexplained beauty at the bid of a mysterious
power, which is seated grandly and immovably
in some part of the brain, and yet, by imper-
ceptible messengers, moves every part of the
body. By its side beats the heart, ever active,
by day and by night, resting only when death
returns dust to dust; it sends the great river of
life from its innermost chambers to the farthest
frontiers, and then calls its headlong waves back
again to their early allegi~nce. These two mys-
terious powers work in glorious harmony with
each other; the result is life. But above all it
is the blood that is the life of all flesh ; so
the ancients already called instinctively the
countless stems and branches through which it
ever passes without knowing rest or repose, the
Tree of Life, and our day repeats, with better
right, that the life of the flesh is the blood.
Whence it conies, and where it is fashioned,
science knows not, and nature tells not. God
has not vouchsafed us to know first beginnings.
The sprouting grain is hid under the dark clods
of the valley, and a cell, unseen by man, is un-
folded alike, in silent night, into the worm that
creeps on the ground and the proud man that is
born for eternity. So it is with the blood that
holds our life. Its simple, colorless, and trans-
parent fluid comes we know not whence, and
goes we know not whither. Ia it swim count-
less little bodiessome red, and others white.
The former give it its apparent color; each one
is but faintly tinged with delicate pink, but
their vast numbers, and the eager haste with
which they follow each other, closely packed,
cause a greater depth and intensity of scarlet.
Not all blood, however, is red. The fluid at
least that we call so is white in all the lower
animals; the leech and the earth-worm alone
have it reddish. The silk-worm prefers yellow,
and beetles have a fancy for dark brown. Cater-
pillars, decked in gorgeous hues without, are
brilliant orange within, and snails indulge in
blood of dark amethyst or sky-blue! But even
in man the color varies: in the veins it is a
smooth and glossy purple, in the arteries a rich
bright scarlet. So we speak of red blood, half
forgetful that it owes its tinge to the same cause
that makes the soil of classic Greece burn in
deep red tints, and gives a chocolate hue to the
richest lands on our globe. There is iron in our
blood, enough to suggest to Frenchmenwho
else on earth could have conceived the idea ?
the striking of a medal out of the ore contained
in the veins of an admired countryman ! This
iron suffers the common fate when iron and air
come in hostile contact. No sooner does the
blood expose its pearly drops in the lungs to the
atmosphere, than the insidious foe grasps it, amid
strikes its fangs deep into the minute particles
of metal. The iron can not resist; it must
open its tiny pores to the enemy, whom we call THE TREE OF LIFE. 77
oxygen; it rusts and blushes at its own disgrace. men dry up infusoria and bury them in minia-
Thus we find in all nature the gay contrast be- ture catacombs; a drop of water poured npoa
tween green and red; the world of plants loves their minute bodies restores them in a moment
carbon, and hoists its brigbt color of green in to renewed and vigorous action. A German
herb and tree; the higher realm of animals professor even took some tiny creatures of the
needs oxygen, and it stamps their world with family of spiders (tardigrada) and kept them
a thousand shades of red. As the tide of life for seven long years in the shape of dry dust.
sinks, and vigor declines, carbon again triumphs; Here also a little moisture was the magic wand
and even the blood of man, when in its last stage at whose touch the mystic slumber was broken,
of dissolutionin the bileassumes already a and this novel Sleeping Beauty awakened to
greenish-yellow color. It changes even with new life. What a wondrous contrast between
age and temper. The youn~ and the delicate the cold and stolid blood of lower animals and
have lighter blood; in the hearty and the the hot, hissing stream that courses with winged
powerful it is darker. Disease will, of course, speed through the heart of man! There, want
play wicked tricks with our best treasures; it of warmth and vigor is safety; here, fullness of
changes our lifes current, now into deepest life and abundance of heat is the very cause of
black, and then again almost into pure white. danger. Hence the vast importance of salt for
The sangre az4 claimed by the Spanish the inner household of animal and man. The
grandee, is but a superb sample of human pride wild beasts of the desert can not live without it,
in all its folly; and poets only can speak of the nor the cattle grazing on our meadows. Pliny
crystal-clear fluid in the veins of their gods on tells us how the most lamportant part of the Ro-
Olympus, or dream in German fancies of blue man soldiers stipulated pay was his allowance
blood on one, and red blood on the other side of salthence salarium, our salaryand the
of the Rhine. Sons of the Desert of our day still hold it sa
Nor is there much more truth in the familiar cred. Long caravans of camels, endless strings
phrases of the cold blood of the north and the of slaves, laden with the precious gift of Nature,
warm blood of the south. Poets have here also pass to and fro in the desolate regions of North-
found a happy excuse for erring mankind in era Africa; and, lest his blood putrify, as he
uncontrollable passions and hot blood given says, the Arab daintily dissolves his few grains
by nature. It is the blood boiling over that of salt in a cup of water and drinks it daily.
pours forth a torrent of fierce curses; it is the Far more mysterious is the dread effect of
heart stung to the quick that inflicts the fatal poison upon our blood: its form, its color, its
stab. And yet, though our lifes current may living principle are utterly destroyed at the mo-.
quicken when our passions are excited, in re- ~neat of contact, and death travels swift and
ality all our crimes are committed in cold sure on its restless current through the fated
blood ; and the raving dervish, who tears with body. The understanding of man has not yet
beastly brutishness whatever comes in his way, fathomed this secret; the microscope even has
and the mad Malay, running a-muck and slay- not yet perceived the death-bringing venom.
ing in blind fury even his own beloved, have Neither the well-aimed eye nor all the cunning
blood not one degree warmer than the patient of chemistry can show the presence of the mi-
Hottentot and the stolid Indian. Even the nute matter of vaccine that is introduced into
long-cherished fancy of cold-blooded animals is the body; and yet what a fierce and often fatal
not founded in truth. Reptiles and fishes have revolution does it not produce! The arrow
colder blood, it is true, than the higher classes steeped in wonralli, the serpents tooth, and the
of creation; still it is always warmer than the bite of the maddened dog, all aim at the hearts
element in which they live, and in some fishes blood. Some poisons hasten and hurry it until
even as warm as in man. A curious aspect of it breaks in wild fury through its narrow walls;
the bloods temperature is seen in apparent others lull it to sleep and stop the life-bearing
death. With man and all warm-blooded ani- current. And yet the same deadly poison can
malsamong whom birds stand highestthe be swallowed and will remain harmless! Many
warm fluid favors life while there is life, but it have regretted that science should here also have
also aids death when once the hearts action rudely rent the graceful vail of poetic fancy.
ceases. Then its very heat hastens fermenta- How we used to wonder and to worship the fair
tion; the blood, loaded with organic matter, is maiden that minded not her own sweet life, and
by its aid quickly decomposed, becomes putrid, with trembling lip sucked certain death from
and death is instantaneous and certain. Not the poisoned wound of him she loved! Now
so in cold-blooded animals; here apparent death we know that no danger awaited her, and that
is frequent and of long duration. The lower her act was at once the surest and the safest
they stand in the scale of nature, the longer remedy known to science. But, fortunately, it
they can remain without any sign and enjoyment is the vail of fancy only that is rent; the deed
of life. Here a toad falls asleep in a easy crag remains as noble, the sacrifice as grand and
of a sun-warmed stone; it forgets to awake. glorious as ever; for she thought and felt that
The rock grows and raises impenetrable walls she was drinking death from the poisoned cup,
all around, until the hand of man comes to and yet was willing to lay down her life upoa
break the dismal prison and to restore the her- the altar of her love.
once more to light and life. There learned Thus through artery and vein courses the
VOL. XI.No. 61.F 78 HAHPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
mystic fluid. Like life itself; in every form,
throughout the wide world, it also is in eternal
motion, unceasingly active and useful. For
here, as elsewhere, motion is life, and there is
death in repose. The true secret of its life-
giving power the world knows not yet; this only
is certain, that life is not in the red, little, coin-
shaped bodies, nor in the white globules that
swim in the pure, transparent fluid of our veins,
but in the latter alone. Countless animals have
neither blood nor blood-vessels, but only this
strange, all-powerful elixir of life. Parts of
their bodies have been put into a solution of
silver and then burnt; the whole beautiful
structureremainsbehind, perfect and unchanged,
but filled with pure, solid silver. Thus we see
that the precious metal has taken the place of
the unknown fluid which must have saturated
the whole form and mass of tissues. Not many
years ago, the tiny globules were thought to be
minute animals that sported in reckless joy
through the sacred body of man, and wondrous
stories were told of their birth, their wanderings,
and their love. The microscope has, of late,
destroyed the pretty illusion. They are known
now to assume all hues and all shapes; largest
ia toads and the changeable proteus, they are
smaller in man, resembling flattened, circular
disks, and looking, when crowded together, for
all the world like piles of diminutive dollars.
They have no silver, however, but only base
iron; and yet, though so heavy, the velocity of
the current that drives them in furious haste
around the great circle of the body keeps then~
suspended. Thus they are hurled along, some
standing upright and some sideways, some roll-
iug like hoops and others rushing on so quickly
that the eye can not follow. The current seems
fastest in the middle; they move more slowly
toward the edges. Though not themselves the
true bearers of life, they are the distinctive mark
of blood. They vary in size and number: the
hotter the blood of an animal, the fuller it ap-
pears of their hosts; they change in the instant
when life passes away as a vapor. Hence their
importance even in law. In criminal cases,
the microscope has to appear in the witness-
box, and with almost unfailing accuracy it will
tell, from a faint, worn blood-stain, threugh
whose veins the globules once passedman or
woman, old or young, whether the mark he
fresh or old, nay, even whether the blood was
shed before or after the death of the victim.
Hence, also, the difficulty of that once so popu-
lar effort to restore declining life by the infusion
of the blood of others. Were it not for these
barely visible, rosy bodies, nothing would be
easier. Even pure water can be poured into
the veins of living beings with impunityit is
the favorite method of measuring the quantity
of blood contained in a body. The great Ma-
gendie pumped such floods into a lean, starved
cur he had rescued from the halter, that it soon
rivaled the fattest pet-poodle, unable to walk,
and plagued with the asthma. He even seized
once a mad butchers-dog, and, in spite of the
terrible danger, tied him and filled his veins
with distilled water, to test the pretended vir-
tues of such a cure. Early already the idea was
entertained, and the trial made, to pour the
blood of some kindred animal into a dying body.
With amazement and with awe, the almost in-
animate corpse was seen to return to life, to
gain new vigor with each new accession of
blood, and finally to move about with ease and
to recover completely. More recently, however,
doubts have arisen. The attempt has been oft-
en repeated in France, and seldom without suc-
cess; a slight difference in the size and shape
of the globules is not thought to be fatal, as
they soon adapt themselves to their new home
and change their nature. An essential differ-
ence, however, acts like the most violent pois-
on; and as few men are sai~,to be exactly alike
in this point of microscopic importance, the
remedy is but rarely resorted to, and considered
of doubtful efficiency.
As these mysterious little bodies come from
unknown sources, so they disappear again in
unknown regions. It is surmised that they per~
form the great journey through the body of man
only a few times, when their strength is ex~
hausted. But in the beautiful economy of Na-
ture nothing is lost, nothing ever abandoned.
Thus they alto find, at last, a grave in the parts
where the bile is prepared; and, after having
served during life the very highest purposes of
nature, they become, even after death, still use-
ful in humbler ways.
But of all that pertains to blood, the most
a9onderful by. far is its very house and home,
the heart. In all languages spoken on earth
and in the mind of all earth-born men, the heart
is the very essence of lifeit is man itself.
The heart of Judah waxed gross, and with
the heart man believeth. The Saviour came
to hind up the broken-hearted ; and of God
himself it is said, It repented Him and it
grieved Him at his heart.
The second day has not passed in the in-
nermost parts where the Lord fashioned us,
before the faint beat of the unseen heart begins
its mysterious life. Without rest or repose,
never missing a stroke, never ceasing for an in-
stant, its wondrous voice is ever heard, by day
and by night, through life. And when mans
strength and beauty are departed, when his lips
are silent, and his mind is darkened, even then
the heart still moves in faint and feeble accents.
At last it ceases, and man stands before his
Maker!
Nature has well secured this most precious
part of our body, this very seat of our life. A
powerful columnthe spineprotects it from
behind; the beauteous structure of the ribs, so
strong and yet so elastic, shelters it on the other
sides. Within it is as well secured: its own
great arms and arteries suspend and support it;
a curious bag surrounds it, hanging loosely and
easily, and yet guarding it safely against all
dangers. Thus its motion is left free and un-
restrained, while a few drops of water maintain THE TREE OF LIFE. 79
its surface ever moist and supple. Branches which the ancients already had many fables, and
bud forth from its four great chambers in all the Middle Ages told most marvelous stories,
directions. As the tender germ in the bosom not by any lif~ or spirit given to the blood or its
of the earth sinks a tiny root into the ground, contents, but by a strong muscular power of the
and, at the same time, sends its graceful shoot walls of the heart, it compresses its chambers and
upward to greet the light of heaven, so the forces the blood out; after a while it readmits
great heart of man also has its two-fold growth. it through new doors, and for a new purpose.
One Tree of Life rises above in mighty strength, This is the beating of the heart, that beautiful
and unfolds a thousand branches reaching up to rhythm which rings out joyful peals at the birth
the crown of the noble structure; another tree of the infant, and sounds the mournful knell as
sends out its countless parts to all below the the spirit departs to return to its great home.
heart. They divide and diminish as they re- Every time that the heart contracts, its point
move from the centre; they have their main rises up, turns slightly round, and knocks against
trunk, their branches, and their twigs, until at the walls of the chest. By day its voice is low
last they taper off into minute, invisible chan- and light, but in the silent dead of the night,
nels, so fine and tiny that they are called capil- when all earthly noises are hushed, a second
lana or hair-vessels. Not all, however, serve heart-note is heard, probably the effect of a
the same purpose; some are arteries, and carry shutting of valves, which suddenly stops the
the lifes blood from the heart to the further- bloods eager current. Eighty times in the
most parts of the body; others are veins, and minute the quiver of this stroke is felt through
bring the altered fluid back to the great centre. the whole body, and so the secret work con-
The blood leaves its home a light and bright- tinuesa swoon exceptedwithout ever ceas-
red current; it wings itself with speed, and ing, year after year, for a whole long lifetime!
races along through strong and powerful yes- Thus our hearts, though stout and brave,
sels. These vary, of course, in size and shape Still, like muffled drums, are heating
in different beings; in some the naked eye can Funeral marches to the grave.
not see them; in the whale they are a foot The quickness of the beat varies with sex, size,
thick, and each stroke of his gigantic heart and age; it is fuller and louder in man than in wo-
sends a torrent of nearly fifteen gallons through man, but q~zicker in small than in larger persons.
the vast passages. What strikes us most in our It may rise to 180 in the minute, it may sink as
own, is the truly marvelous provision made for low as 30; strong tea and ice-cream, it is said,
their safety. As the slightest scratch, a most will produce pauses, and gout make it be silent
minute opening would let out a large and indis- for a while. Its rhythm is even more regular
pensable mass of the precious fluid, these chan- and determined than that of our breathing, or
ads are never found near the surface, or close the unconscious functions of the intestines. Like
to muscles and sinews, where danger most threat- all life on earth it also represents the eternal
ens. Theyare hidden and well-protected. Some alternation between action and repose. It beats
pass right through the bone itself as in the jaw- and rings its clear, full note; then follows deep,
bone; others run safely in the grooves of the unbroken silence, until the same loud stroke is
under-edge of our ribs, or are snugly ensconced heard once more. No will of man can control
in the carefully scooped out bones of our fin- it, no influence from without can arrest it. We
gers, where high ramparts surround them on may breathe as we choose, now faster and now
either side. The veins, with their deep purple slowerchildren have been known to hold their
blood, are smaller vessels, and lie nearer the breath even unto deathbut, with the exception
surface; in them the blood returns more slowly, of a single man who could command the two
and, as it were, exhausted to the heart. It has buckets in the well of life to fall and rise at
lost its strength and its vigor, and is carried will, the heart is utterly independent. So truly
back to assume new forms and gain new force, said the master poet,
or to leave the body forever. Thiuk you I have the shears of de my
Although we ascribe all feelings and all sea- Have I commandment on the pWse of life 5
sations to the heart, it is in reality more insen- And well is it for man that the heart needs
sible than any other part of the body. Dr. not his constant care. How he would have to
Harveys young patient was not even aware of watch over the precious fountain, ever to keep
it when his heart was touched, unless he hap- it well filled, and yet to prevent it from over-
pened to see it, and a Frenchman, who had a flowing! How he w~nld tremble lest a mo-
similar opdning in his chest, felt no pain when ments forgetfulness~ should open its gates wide
his heart was graspedbut he fainted. Even or close them hefeire their time! Surely not
wounds are not, as is often believed, invariably in wisdom only lut in mercy also were we fash-
fatal. Pins and needles have been stuck into ioned, and coantless are the blessings without
it without serious consequences, and pistol-balls and within us, for which no thanks ever rise to
have lodged there for years with impunity. But the throne of Him that bestowed them.
it bears no trifling. When, in 1728, a lady of Having its own vital power, not borrowed
highest rank at the Court of Turin passed a from abroad, not influenced by others, the heart
long golden needle right through the heart of will beat even after death, if excited by touch
her sleeping husband, he never woke again, or galvanic action. This is best seen in cold-
Not by any mysterious Vital Power, of bloodedanimals. TheNaturalistwb~hadcleaned 80 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
and dried the heart of some fishes, and then with the air they have breathed, and the oxygen
blown them up with air of peculiar mixture, it takes in turns it a bright red. In the capilla-
saw with amazement how they iv~uld open, first rics of other parts of the body it feeds upon car-
one chamber and then another, panse awhile, bon; here it is colored a deep purple hue, and be-
and begin again, and at last continue a regular comes lit for the veins that are to carry it back
life of their own for hours in unbroken succes- to the heart. We see the blood pass its tiny
sion. globules through the meshes of the delicate
On each beating of the heart, the blood it web, we see them stay awhile and then rush
contains is sent out through the arteries on its out again, after having changed color; but the
mysterious errand. The beat finds an echo that great mystery of life remains still shrouded iu
is heard throughout the whole body in the pulse; darkness. We can not yet comprehend, proud
that one powerful stroke in the home of life is men as we are, the secret of our own life. To
felt at the uttermost extremity, as wave follows fathom that dark mystery is the task not of a
wave in rapid succession. Thus the pulse has mau, nor of an age: it is the great task of man-
become the great oracle of physicians, to whom kind for all eternity. This only we know, that
it reveals, in an instant, the elasticity of the as the stars in heaven are said to join in prais-
arteries, the quantity of blood in the body, and ing the Lord and to move in beauteous paths
its condition; the vigor of the heart, and even around his footstool, so our dust-born body also
the state of the mind. As the planets, high in is a glorious harmony, in which all parts serve
heaven, move on their appointed path, so the the one great purpose of life. We are learning
blood of man also follows its unchanging course to know its single notes; we begin to hear faint
in carrying the eternal stream of life from the accents of the vast melody that pervades it; we
heart to the most distant parts of the body. Its know that bodily as well as spiritual life obeys
hot, red current gushes forth from the left chain- the omnipotent source of all life, even our
her, and spreads far and near into every fibre great Father in Heaven.
and every corner. Its path is marked by a pow- Great are the wonders of the circulation of
er from on high; channels open, and curiously- our blood, and the half of them are perhaps yet
wrought valves turn upon their elastic hinges hidden to our eye. How long is it ,since we
to speed the fluid from one end of the wondrous learned with wondering awe that all along its
realm~ to the other. At last it returns to the appointed path the eager current opens and
right chamber of its great home; thence it shuts, by its own instinctive force, a thousand
passes into the lungs, where it discharges the diminutive doors and gates? Valves are placed
noisome carbon it has gathered in its wander- every where to prevent it from rushing hack
ings to be sent out into the wide air, and then again, before it has fulfilled its great mission.
begins once more its unceasing course from the Thcir mechanism is truly beautiful. Often the
left heart. How swiftly it rushes alonghow eye can hardly see them, and yet they are so
madly it seems to race from limb to limb! The accurate that not the smallest drop of blood, no~
strong leg of man, resting upon the other knee, a single tiny globule can pass when they are
is lifted up high by each quick pulsation, and closed. Even after death, if water be poured
the injured artery spouts forth a jet of furious into the veins they will shut hermetically and
waters. And yet it never fails for a moment not allow it to pass. And thus they endure,
here to pick up an invisible atom of carbon, faint, feeble little valves as they are, for three-
and there to deposit a still smaller portion of score years and ten, and even to the last expir-
food. How it throbs and trembles in that great ing beat of the heart, they still close as firmly
chamber pf mysteries, the brain! It makes it as ever. There is no disorder, no weariness in
heave like a sea of magic waters, sink and rise their countless number; each valve opens only
at every beat of the pulse. Even where the veins at the precise moment, each valve shuts again
are but like narrow threads, and the streamlet when it is needed. Yet the life of proud man
has to press and to struggle through the diinin- depends upon their faithful discharge of duty;
utive channel, it is still full of life and vigor, let there be but the smallest, invisible opening,
What a tell-tale it is in our face; how it spreads through which the blood might ooze, and the
its bright color over cheek and brow, and, in an whole wondrous structure is doomeddust is
instant, withdraws hs rich glow to make ~vay for made to return to dust!
deadly pallor! At other times mans own hand interferes
At last it reaches the emallest of the arteries, with this wonder of art and beauty. He opens
where their tiny branches are lost to the eye, veins, or he cuts off limbs, and thus breaks in
and there it enters secret chambers in which it upon the appointed course of the blood. But
changes its color and nature. In these capilla- here also nature is rich in wisest provisions.
ries of hairlike fineness, which meem to fill the The current, thus suddenly arrested, seeks an
whole body of man so closely that, the skin and outlet elsewhere; it finds new channels, it wid-
the hair excepted, no part can be touched with- ens themthanks to their amazing elasticity
out giving forth the precious treasure; Nature and thus reaches its destination, if not as quickly
carries on her most wonderful operations. She and directly as before, still safely and in abund-
is always greatest in the least. We know ance. The unused, mutilated veins shrivel up
though we can not see itthat in the capillaries~ and are closed; the new passages, though before
of the lungs the blood is brought in contact ever so flue and minute, expand and change A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 81
into large and important channels. And thus
the whole thirty pounds of blood, which the
healthy, full-grown man carries in him, perform
the great circuit of his body more than five
hundred times in a day and a night, never at
rest and never at fault for a single moment I
Truly, this is the Lords doing, it is marvelous
in our eyes I
But heart and blood are more than a mere
mechanical contrivance. Physiologists have
not yet tamed the restless heart of man and
made it a mere forcing-pump, they have not
yet degraded the floods of blood in our veins
to mere carriers of carbon and oxygen, coal-
porters and scullions to the body at large. It
is no idle dream of poets that the heart sym-
pathizes with our feelings and our emotions,
that it beats faster with rapture and sinks faint-
ing in fear or awe.
For there is a spirit dwelling in our body, and
he is ruler supreme. He is enthroned on high,
and as his unseen messengers fly with surpassing
speed to do his bidding, the members obey the
mysterious impulse, and the heart also reflects
the great events in the mind of man. Grasp it
with, rude hand and it feels not, but touch the
invisible cord that binds it in beautiful harmony
to the soul of its master, and it will leap for
joy or break in despair. Bashful modesty ex-
cites it but gently, and yet the hearts blood
rushes up to shine through the transparent skin
of cheek and brow, and mantles it with deep
crimson. Fierce fury presses it with iron grasp,
and the ruddy hue gives way to fearful, deadly
pallor. Broken hearts are not the poets fancy
only; they are even facts in medicine. As the
performer on wind-instruments, or the public
crier in cities, uses up the physical hearts
power so fast as to shorten his life, so grief and
anxiety, restless care or unbridled passion, also
destroy it before its appointed time. Agonized
feelings tear the heart literally; a sudden shock,
from joy or sorrow, causes it to break, and brings
instantaneous death. Hence it is that the heart
has so long and so generally been looked upon
as the very seat of all feeling and life; hence it
is that hope deferred maketh the heart sick, and
that in more than one sense. He desireth
truth in the inward parts, and in the inward
part He shall make us to know wisdom.
A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA.*
fl ECIDEDLY the best book we have had yet
-.1-I on China and the Chinese is the work re-
cently published by M. Huc, containing the
narrative of his travels through the Celestial
Empire. In the first place, very few foreigners
have ever penetrated the Central Kingdom.
Of those who have, still fewer were gifted with
the requisite perception to see beneath the sur-
face of things, or the ability to describe what
they did see. Most of thempartly from want
of activity, but more from the jealous policy of
the authoritiestraveled like a case of goods,
shut up in the cabin of a boat, or behind the
curtains of a palanquin; and knew as much of
the country, when they left it, as the English-
man who landed at Calais, and spent three
weeks there, drunk in his room at the Hdtel
Anglais, did of France. To write a good book
of travels, a book that will convey to the reader
some clear idea of the country and people visited,
a very rare coincidence of opportunity and fitness
to improve it is essential. The traveler must
be a man of untiring activity, keen vision, and
a shrewdness that sets imposition at defiance.
He must possess beforehand such an acquaint-
ance with the matter in hand that he shall not
waste time in learning what every one knows,
or bore the public by reiterating what has been
written before. He must be able to see the
people he intends to describe in their everyday
dressliving, talking, eating, drinking, and
sleeping, as they do at home, without assumed
formality or imposed restraint. Hence a knowl-
edge of their kinguage is indispensable, and an
intimate acquaintance with their national hab-
its and peculiarities almost as important. When
to these qualifications the traveler adds a cer-
tain amount of prestige, just enough to insure
him facilities for free intercourse, and not
enough to tempt the natives to wear a disguise
in his presence, he may venture to send his
travels to press, assured that he is not adding
one to the myriads of bad books.
The test is a severe one, but M. Hue will
stand it. A priest of far more worldly sagacity
than is usually possessed by laymen; a close
observer, accustomed to peer into every thing,
to criticise every thing; a scholar, profoundly
versed in science and Oriental literature, the
apostolic missionary possessed at the start the
stock in trade of a useful traveler. Fourteen
years he had spent in China before the com-
mencement of his last and great journey, during
which time he had acquired so thorough a
knowledge of the language that even the prac-
ticed ear of the educated Mandarins could not
detect any foreign accent in his speech. He
had lived in disguise, first in one place, then in
another, accommodating himself to the rules of
Chinese society, and concealing by shrewd art
the secret of his Christian faith, and the peril-
ous duty he had undertaken to perform. When
at last he traversed the Central Kingdom from
the borders of Tartary to the port of Canton, he
traveled in the state of a high imperial officer.
The Emperor had given him a passport and a
guard; the cities or counties through which he
passed were bound to furnish him with an am-
ple supply of funds for his expenses. Girt with
the awful red sash, and crowned with the yellow
cap, usually sacred to the imperial family, he
commanded even more respect than his passport
exacted. He mingled freely with all ranks;
passed through every vicissitude, from prisoner
at the bar to judge on the bench; saw every
thing that was to be seen, and heard every thing
that it could interest a stranger to hear. The
fruit of his journey is the work now published,
* A J raey thro h the Chinese Empire. By M.
Hue. Two volumes l2mo. With a Map. Harpers.

Journey Through China81-86

A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 81
into large and important channels. And thus
the whole thirty pounds of blood, which the
healthy, full-grown man carries in him, perform
the great circuit of his body more than five
hundred times in a day and a night, never at
rest and never at fault for a single moment I
Truly, this is the Lords doing, it is marvelous
in our eyes I
But heart and blood are more than a mere
mechanical contrivance. Physiologists have
not yet tamed the restless heart of man and
made it a mere forcing-pump, they have not
yet degraded the floods of blood in our veins
to mere carriers of carbon and oxygen, coal-
porters and scullions to the body at large. It
is no idle dream of poets that the heart sym-
pathizes with our feelings and our emotions,
that it beats faster with rapture and sinks faint-
ing in fear or awe.
For there is a spirit dwelling in our body, and
he is ruler supreme. He is enthroned on high,
and as his unseen messengers fly with surpassing
speed to do his bidding, the members obey the
mysterious impulse, and the heart also reflects
the great events in the mind of man. Grasp it
with, rude hand and it feels not, but touch the
invisible cord that binds it in beautiful harmony
to the soul of its master, and it will leap for
joy or break in despair. Bashful modesty ex-
cites it but gently, and yet the hearts blood
rushes up to shine through the transparent skin
of cheek and brow, and mantles it with deep
crimson. Fierce fury presses it with iron grasp,
and the ruddy hue gives way to fearful, deadly
pallor. Broken hearts are not the poets fancy
only; they are even facts in medicine. As the
performer on wind-instruments, or the public
crier in cities, uses up the physical hearts
power so fast as to shorten his life, so grief and
anxiety, restless care or unbridled passion, also
destroy it before its appointed time. Agonized
feelings tear the heart literally; a sudden shock,
from joy or sorrow, causes it to break, and brings
instantaneous death. Hence it is that the heart
has so long and so generally been looked upon
as the very seat of all feeling and life; hence it
is that hope deferred maketh the heart sick, and
that in more than one sense. He desireth
truth in the inward parts, and in the inward
part He shall make us to know wisdom.
A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA.*
fl ECIDEDLY the best book we have had yet
-.1-I on China and the Chinese is the work re-
cently published by M. Huc, containing the
narrative of his travels through the Celestial
Empire. In the first place, very few foreigners
have ever penetrated the Central Kingdom.
Of those who have, still fewer were gifted with
the requisite perception to see beneath the sur-
face of things, or the ability to describe what
they did see. Most of thempartly from want
of activity, but more from the jealous policy of
the authoritiestraveled like a case of goods,
shut up in the cabin of a boat, or behind the
curtains of a palanquin; and knew as much of
the country, when they left it, as the English-
man who landed at Calais, and spent three
weeks there, drunk in his room at the Hdtel
Anglais, did of France. To write a good book
of travels, a book that will convey to the reader
some clear idea of the country and people visited,
a very rare coincidence of opportunity and fitness
to improve it is essential. The traveler must
be a man of untiring activity, keen vision, and
a shrewdness that sets imposition at defiance.
He must possess beforehand such an acquaint-
ance with the matter in hand that he shall not
waste time in learning what every one knows,
or bore the public by reiterating what has been
written before. He must be able to see the
people he intends to describe in their everyday
dressliving, talking, eating, drinking, and
sleeping, as they do at home, without assumed
formality or imposed restraint. Hence a knowl-
edge of their kinguage is indispensable, and an
intimate acquaintance with their national hab-
its and peculiarities almost as important. When
to these qualifications the traveler adds a cer-
tain amount of prestige, just enough to insure
him facilities for free intercourse, and not
enough to tempt the natives to wear a disguise
in his presence, he may venture to send his
travels to press, assured that he is not adding
one to the myriads of bad books.
The test is a severe one, but M. Hue will
stand it. A priest of far more worldly sagacity
than is usually possessed by laymen; a close
observer, accustomed to peer into every thing,
to criticise every thing; a scholar, profoundly
versed in science and Oriental literature, the
apostolic missionary possessed at the start the
stock in trade of a useful traveler. Fourteen
years he had spent in China before the com-
mencement of his last and great journey, during
which time he had acquired so thorough a
knowledge of the language that even the prac-
ticed ear of the educated Mandarins could not
detect any foreign accent in his speech. He
had lived in disguise, first in one place, then in
another, accommodating himself to the rules of
Chinese society, and concealing by shrewd art
the secret of his Christian faith, and the peril-
ous duty he had undertaken to perform. When
at last he traversed the Central Kingdom from
the borders of Tartary to the port of Canton, he
traveled in the state of a high imperial officer.
The Emperor had given him a passport and a
guard; the cities or counties through which he
passed were bound to furnish him with an am-
ple supply of funds for his expenses. Girt with
the awful red sash, and crowned with the yellow
cap, usually sacred to the imperial family, he
commanded even more respect than his passport
exacted. He mingled freely with all ranks;
passed through every vicissitude, from prisoner
at the bar to judge on the bench; saw every
thing that was to be seen, and heard every thing
that it could interest a stranger to hear. The
fruit of his journey is the work now published,
* A J raey thro h the Chinese Empire. By M.
Hue. Two volumes l2mo. With a Map. Harpers. 82 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
which is written in so lively and pleasing a strain, thither the French missionary had seen the
that, were its snbject hackneyed instead of orig- tombs of other Christian priests who had fallen
inal, it would still command a large circle of victims to Chinese intolerance at a much later
readers. period. Nothing daunted, however, on the day
It was in the month of June, 1846, that M. appointed Huc and his companion, a missionary
Huc re-entered China, on his way from Lhassa, like himselg proceeded to the court-house.
in Thibet, to the sea, at the town of Ta-tsieu- The way was cleared for themfor a great
lou, in the province of Se-Teouen, a trifle to crowd had assembled to ~vitnes~ the sightby
the north of the thirtieth parallel of latitude, soldiers with rattans, and they were ushered
Dressed~notwithstanding the prejudices of the into a small waiting-room. While there, the
Chinese, who were shocked at such presump- officers of the court seemed to take a pleasure
tionin the sky-blue robes, white satin boots, in running backward and forward before them,
red sash, and yellow cap of the imperial family, in their red robes, armed with long rusty swords,
and stretched at full length in a comfortable and carrying chains, pincers, and other instru-
palanquin, borne by four stout Chinese, and Cs- meats of torture. When they were introduced
corted by a batch of hungry, bare-legged sol- iuto the court-hall, these worthies rattled their
diers, the French missionary struck into the in- weapons, and shrieked Tremble! tremble!
tenor. The road was execrable, but the pal- prisoners! On your knees !
anquin-bearers, whose wages never exceed ten To the horror of the assemblage, the French-
cents a day, seemed so used to the hard work, men stood straight as poplars, and looked at the
that in the most perilous places, when a single court. The President was a man of about
false step might have precipitated them to the fIfty years of age, with thick lips of a violet
bottom of an abyss, and their bodies were drip- color, flabby cheeks, a dirty white complexion,
ping with perspiration, they laughed, joked, and a square nose, long flat shining ears, and a fore-
punned, as if they were snug at home. Over head deeply wrinkled. His eyes were probably
mountain and valley, across ravine and river, small and red; but they were so hidden behind
through dust and rocks, they ran, making their large spectacles, which were tied in their place
twenty-five miles a day, till they reached the by a black string, that this could not be posi-
capital of the province, Tehing-ton-fon. This, tively ascertained. His costume was superb: on
we are told, is a beautiful city, well laid out, his breast glittered the large Imperial dragon,
with wide streets and beautiful palaces. It is embroidered in gold and silver: a globe of red
of recent date; the old capital, which stood on coral surmounted his official cap, and a long
the same site, having been destroyed by fire perfumed chaplet hung to his neck. Beside
some time since. A legend is preserved to the him sat the Attorney-general or Inspector of
effect that, before the conflagration, a Bouze Crimes; a wrinkled old man, with a face like
one day appeared in the streets, crying, One a polecat, who rocked himself about contmun-
man and two eyes ! People stared, and won- ally. After a few preliminary questions, this
dered what he meant; but he vouchsafed no last worthy opened the case for the prosecution,
explanation, and continued to pace every street as we would say, in a speech of extraordinary
of the city, for several days, crying in a lugubri- virulence. Hue knew the people he had to deal
ous voice, One man and two eyes ! The with, and listened ~vith perfect composure to the
magistrates had him arrested, but he would say vituperative harangue; when it was ended, he
nothing but the old mysterious words. Inquiry replied calmly: We men of the West, you see,
was set on foot as to who he was, and where he like to discuss matters of business with coolness
came from; but no one knew any thing of him. and method; but your language has been so dif-
lie was never known to eat or drink, or to say fuse and violent that we have scarcely been able
any thing but his perpetual One man and two to make out your meaning. Be so good as to
eyes ! After two months of this work, he sad- begin again, and express your thoughts more
denly disappeared, and the same day the fire clearly and peaceably. Then turning from
broke out. The inhabitants had only time to the Attorney-general who, worthy man, seems
escape with some of their goods, and the whole to have been floored by this unexpected re-
city was consumed. Then people began to tort, the Frenchman complimented the Presi-
think of the Bouze. It was discovered that by dent of the Court on the dignity and pre-
adding two dots or eyes to the Chinese sign cision of kis language. The adroit maucun-
which signifies man, the character which vre succeeded admirably. The Inspector of
stands for fire was produced; and thus it ap- Crimes stormed as before, but the Court was
peared, plainly enough, that the Bouze had favorably inclined toward the prisoners, and as
been all along prophesying the conflagration in the examination proceeded manifestly to their
a manner worthy of the old Delphic oracle. advantage. After a number of futile queries,
At Tching-tou-fou M. Hue was brought to and many inquiries about the French alphabet
trial, by the orders of the Emperor, on suspicion and the Christian religion, the President said
of being something different from what he rep- they must be tired, and closed the examina-
resented himself to be. It was a ticklish matter. tion. This was the end of the much dreaded
Thirty years before, in that same city, a prede- trial. The Governor of the Province reported
cessor of M. Hues in the mission had been to the Emperor, that having examined the skins
executed by the authorities; and on the way and heads of the prisoners, and having further A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 83
questioned them at length, he was convinced
they were, as they said, Frenchmen and mis-
sionaries; and that the hest thing to do with
them, would he to send them to Canton to their
own countrymen.
It was a lucky escape. Even to the Chinese
courts of law are machines of unspeakable
dread. The whole administration of justice in
China is hased on a system of corruption and
violence. The courts are farmed out to Man-
darins who act as judges, and extort as much
money as they can from the people living with-
in their jurisdiction. If it be allowable, said
one of these judges to Huc, to make a fortune
by trade and commerce, why not also by devel-
oping the principles of justice ? The way this
judge developed the principles of justice was
by hiring three or four runners to rummage the
city for lawsuits, and then receiving bribes from
each of the litigants in every case. According
to Chinese law, a judge who renders an unjust
or erroneous sentence must he whipped. But
this stern rule was materially modified by an
ordinance of the Emperor Tchang-hi, which was
rendered in reply to several petitions praying
for a reform in the administration of justice.
After stating that the Chinese are naturally
1iti~ions, and that lawsuits would increase to a
frightful extent, if means were nbt taken to
check them, this valuable state paper adds: I
desire, therefore, that those who have recourse to
the tribunals be treated without any pity, and in
such a manner that they shall be disgusted with
law, and tremble to appear before a magistrate.
A Daniel, indeed, come to judgment!
The penal code of China has been long known
to the world by the translation made by Sir
George Staunton. It is probably the most bar-
barous in existence. Prisoners are wholly at
the mercy of the Mandarin who presides at
their trial, who may torture or sentence them
to death as the whim takes him. The written
law is bad enough, but the scope given to the
judges makes it ten times worse. It is shinYck-
ing enough to find a law which declares that, in
cases .of treason, all the male relatives in the
first degree of the person convicted, his father,
grandfather, and paternal uncles, as well as his
sons, grandsons, and sons of his uncles, shall be
indiscriminately beheaded. But the following
is productive of far morepractical injury: Who-
ever shall act in a way that offends propriety,
and that is contrary to the spirit of the laws,
without special infraction of any of their pro-
visions, shall be punished with forty blows, or
eighty if the impropriety be very great. The
Mandarins are, of course, the judges of the im-
propriety. Chinese punishments vary from the
well-known cangue, or wooden collar, to the
slow and painful death. This is inflicted by
an executioner, who holds a covered basket
containing a number of knives, marked with
the names of the various limbs and parts of the
body. He puts his hand in the basket, draws
out a knife, and cuts off the part of the body
marked on it; then another, and does the same;
and so on till he chances to light upon a knife
destined for a vital part. But whipping is the
commonest form of punishment. In ordinary
cases bamboos are used; but great criminals are
flogged with thongs fastened to bamboo handles.
M. Hue chanced one day to step into a court,
where a Mandarin was trying the case of a noted
robber and assassin. The judge asked the pris-
oner a question which he stubbornly refused to
answer. The Mandarin took a piece of bam-
boo from his table, and threw it to the execu-
tioner standing by. It bore the figure fifteen. By
his wrists and ankles, the prisoner was swung by
cords to the ceiling, so that his body was twist-
ed into the shape of an arc; and while thus
suspended, the executioner administered thir-
ty stripes twice fifteen, according to custom.
Strips of flesh, and streams of blood, dripped
from the poor wretch at every stroke. Even
witnesses and prisoners before trial are treated
as barbarously. It is qnite usual when the
Chinese police catch a suspected thief, and
have not a cord at hand to hamper him, to
nail him by the hand to the cart in which he is
conveyed to prison.
M. Hue staid a fortnight at the capital of
Sse-tchouen, in high favor with the authorities.
On his departure, he was allowed an escort of
two Mandarins and fifteen soldiers. One of the
Mandarins was a literary man, and belonged to
that singular aristocracy of letters, which is the
only counterpoise to the Imperial power in the
Empire. He was, says Hue, a knave, a great
talker, and exceedingly ignorant; knew a great
many long prayers to the god Elan-wang, and
smoked opium constantly. His colleague was a
military Mandarin, likewise given to opium and
rognery. The Emperor had ordered that the
Frenchmen should be treated in the same man-
ner as functionaries of the first rank; should
travel in palanquins, and lodge at the state
palaces of the provincial cities. Ting, the lit-
erary Mandarin, had made up his mind to rea-
lize a small fortune out of his contract for con-
veying them to Canton. Accordingly, after re-
ceiving money to buy comfortable palanquins,
he put half of it in his pocket, and provided
others smaller and cheaper. Unfortunately for
his calculations, Hue understood the Chinese
character perfectly, and knew that, besides the
discomfort, he would lose prestige by allowing
himself to be cheated. So after the days jour~
ney, he told Ting, in a quiet way, that he had
made arrangements for the next day, and that
he, Ting, would return alone to Tching-tou-fou.
Have ~ou perhaps forgotten something ?
inquired the man of letters.
No, we have forgotten nothing; but you
will go back, as we said, to Tching-tou-fou;
you will go to the Viceroy and say we will have
nothing more to do with you.
Ting started up in open-mouthed astonish-
ment. Hue continued:
If the Viceroy should ask why we will have
nothing more to do with you, you can tell him,
if you please, that it is because you have been 84 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
cheating us in making ns travel in two bad pal-
anquins, and giving us only three bearers in-
stead of four.
That is true! that is true ! cried Ting, in
high spirits: I noticed as we went along that
yonr palanquins were not at all lit for persons
of your quality. What you want are those
handsome, fine palanquins with four bearers
who could doubt that? I saw this morning that
there was some confusion in Pao-ngans house,
and things have not been managed as they ought
to have been. One must have little regard for
ones honor and reputation, to provide unsuit-
able palanquins. However, we are different
sort of people, and will give you good ones.
Needless to say that the whole of this ~~vas an
unmitigated falsehood, and that the literary
Mandarin had no intention of parting with his
cash so easily. Next day he persuaded the
travelers to continue their journey by water,
and when they renewed the subject of the pal.
anquins at evening, he solemnly protested that
none could be had in that place. In this aver-
ment he was sustained by all the Mandarins,
civil and military, who resided in the locality.
They all chorused: You must go to Tchoung-
tching for fine palanquins. Hue, however, was
not to be deceived. In that case, said he to
Ting, you will send a man to Tchoung-tching
to buy some. We will wait here. A perfect
storm arose at this declaration. According to
the Emperors orders, each place was to bear the
burden of supporting the Frenchmen as they
passed through, and the plan proposed would
have involved the city in the expense of feeding
them for several days. The whole body of the
magistracy began to lie in the most horrible way
to induce Huc to depart. But he was firm as
a rock. Men like us, said he, never change
a resolution. At length, after several hours
of angry debate, the desired palanquins were
produced, Ting was forced to pay for them,
and M. Huc pursued his journey, proud of his
moral triumph over the dishonesty of his Man-
darin.
Dishonesty and lying seem to be the ruling
traits of the Chinese character. Their whole
conversation is a tissue of falsehoods. Their
forms of politeness are more exaggerated than
those of the old French noblesse; and they are
so well understood that no native is ever de-
ceived by them. One story on this head is quite
characteristic:
On a festival day, the master of the house
adjoining the chapel posted himself, after serv-
ice was over, in the middle of the court, and
began to call to the Christians who were leaving
the chapel: Dont let any body go away. To-
day I invite every one to eat rice in my house.
And then he ran from one group to another,
urging them to stay. But every one alleged
some reason or other for going, and went, The
courteous host appeared quite distressed. At
last he spied a cousin of his who had almost
reached the door, and rushed toward him say-
ing: What, cousin, are you going too? Im
possible. This is a holiday, and you must really
stop. No, said the other, I have business at
home that I must attend to. Business! what?
to-day? a day of rest? Absolutely, you must
stop; I will not let you go; and he seized the
cousins robe and tried to bring him back by
main force, while the desired guest struggled as
well as he could, and sought to prove that his
business was too pressing to allow of his remain-
ing. Well, said the host, since you positively
can not stay to eat rice, we must at least drink
a few glasses of ~vine together. It dont take
much time, replied the cousin, to drink a glass
of xvine; and he turned back, and they entered
the company room. The master then called in
a loud voice, though without appearing to ad-
dress any one in particular: Heat some wine,
and fry two eggs. In the mean time, the two
lighted their pipes and began to gossip; then
they lit and smoked again; but the wine and
eggs did not make their appearance. The cous-
in at last ventured to inquire of his hospitable
entertainer how long he thought it would be be-
fore the wine was ready. Wine! replied the
host, wine! Have we got any wine here?
Dont you know very well that I never drink
wine? It hurts my stomach. In that case,
said the cousin, surely you might have let me
go. Why did you press me to stay? Here-
upon the master of the mansion rose, and as-
sumed an attitude of lofty indignation. Upon
my word, said he, any one might know what
country you come from. What! I have the
politeness to ask you to drink wine, and you
have not the politeness to refuse! Where in
the world have you learned your rites? Among
the Mongols, I should think! And the poor
cousin departed, stammering some words of
apology.
When a man intends to pay a visit to his
neighbor, he sends him word beforehand as fol-
lows: Your discipleor your younger brother
has come to bow his head to the ground be-
fore you, and to pay you his respects. When
a witness is asked in Court what is his name,
he answers: This quite little person is called
by the vile and despicable name of Tchao.
Throughout the empire, from the highest Man-
darins to the lowest peasants, the same forms
of pseudo-politeness and servility are used. It
is, however, confined to the men. In Chinese
society women are nothing. Bred in ignorance
and sloth, they are sold at puberty to the high-
est bidder, and thenceforth become, in the words
of a famous Chinese writer, A shadow and an
echo in their husbands house. They are not
admitted into society, and are hardly considered
as strictly belonging to the human race. M.
Hucs literary Mandarin could not understand
why women became Christians. The French-
man explained: To save their souls like the
men. But women have no souls, replied
Master Ting; you cant make Christians of
them. Huc vainly tried to convince him of
the contrary. He only laughed, and said:
When I get home I will tell my wife that she A JOURNEY THROUGH CHINA. 85
has got a soul. She will be a little astonished,
I think.
The journey through the province of Sse-
tchouen to the capital of Houpe was performed
partly in palanquins and partly by water on the
splendid Blue River. A more gloriously fer-
tile country does not exist, and M. Huc is never
tired of expatiating on its beauties. Densely
peopled as is Sse-tchouen, the greatest province
of the empire, it produces every year enough
food to sustain its entire population for ten.
What state in the Union can say as much?
At Kuen-kiang M. Hue was attacked by fever,
and prostrated. A Chinese doctor was sent for.
Before he came, the Mandarins gave it as their
deliberate opinion that the disease arose from
an undue preponderance of the igneous over
the aqueous principle in Hues hody, and that
the thing to be done was to subdue and quench
the said igneous principle. Green peas, cu-
cumbers, and water-melons, they thought, would
answer the purpose. When the doctor came,
however, he took an opposite view; pronounced
that the cold had preponderated over the igne-
ous prineiple, and preseribed a variety of drugs.
It is usual, it seems, in China, when a doetor
preseribes for a sick person, for the family to
haggle about the medicines prescribed, and to
try hy argument to induce the physician to
strike out of his prescription the more expensive
drugs. When the doctor is obstinate, a family
counsel is held to debate upon the question,
whether it he worth while to spend so much
money for medicine, or whether it would not be
better to lay it out in a fine coffin and funeral.
The debate usually takes place in presence of
the sufferer, whose spirits it is well calculated
to cheer. M. Hue did not follow the custom
of the country in this respect; he took the
medicines prescribed, and got accordingly worse.
He might have died, had not his medical man
piqued at his want of success, decided to resort
to the infallible operation called acupuncture.
This process, which may be familiar to some
readers, consists in sticking needlessometimes
cold, sometimes red hotinto the body of a
sick person at whatever points the operator
fancies they may do good. According to the
Chinese medical authorities, needles may be
thrust into the body at three hundred and sixty-
seven points. M. Hues doctor had made up
his mind as to the points on which he would
commence the operation, when some faint ink-
ling of the scheme penetrated the mind of the
poor delirious patient. He was too ill to argue,
or even to speak. He could only clench his fist,
and feebly strive to shake it at the knight of
the needles. The action caught the eye of the
literary Mandarin, Ting, who sagaciously re-
monstrated: What rashness! do we know how
these Europeans are made, or what they may
have in their bodies ? How do you know,
doctor, into what you would be sticking your
needle ? This objection was fatal to the pro-
ject; and the fright gave such a shock to Hues
system that he shortly afterward recovered,
At length he arrived at the capital of Houpe,
On-tehang-fon, on the river Yang-tse-kiang.
This is the place, says Hue, which must he
visited by all who desire to form a conception
of China. Opposite On-tehang-fon, on the
other side of the Blue River, stands Han-yang;
and on another side, on a tributary stream, a
third city, called Han-keon. The three are so
close as to form one city, containing the incred-
ible number of eight millions of inhabitants.
Han-keon is one vast shop; the streets are so
densely thronged with buyers, sellers, and por-
ters, that it is difficult to make ones way through
the crowd. The port is filled with vessels of
every size, laden with produce from the coun-
try or manufactures from the factories of this
great emporium. Situate in the heart of the
empire, trade radiates from Han-keon; mer-
chants fl-urn every province congregate there.
It is the commercial mart of China.
In 1846, when M. Hue visited Han-keon,
there was no symptom of decline in its trade.
This was the only thing he saw in China which
did not hear evidence of decay. The law-courts
have already been mentioned. Equally corrupt
has become the great literary corporationthe
true Chinese aristocracyfrom which the Em-
peror is bound by usage to choose his civil
Mandarins. Formerly the examinations were
severe, and no man could become a literary
Mandarin without possessing a fair amount of
learning; now, those who are ignorant employ
poor men of letters to compose their theses, and
take their degree as easily as at some of our
colleges. Though the Chinese still pride them-
selves on their classical literature, they regard
the business of writing books as a mere amuse-
ment, like flying kites. No author thinks of
putting his name to the works he publishes;
and though readers abound, no one ever inquires
who wrote even the most popular books. The
custom involves the less injustice, from the ab-
solute worthlessness of the contemporary liter-
ature of China. In the army the same decay
is visible. According to the official records,
it counts twelve hundred thousand men; but
nearly all of these are a sort of militia
farmers, mechanics, etc.who are only called
on once a year or so to attend a review, and
who are so ignorant of military discipline, and
even of the use of their arms, as to be incapa-
ble of executing the simplest maneuvre. It is
well known that, in the opium war, the Chinese
tried to frighten the English by holding up hid-
eous pictures; and when they had fired their
mateblocks, threw them down and ran away.
This was a fair sample of Celestial tactics. A
more wretched army, worse equipped, worse
disciplined, more insensible to honorin a word,
more absurd in every way, does not exist in
the world. The political institutions are as rot-
ten as the military. As a general thing, the
Chinese do not meddle in politics; they leave
the whole subject to the Mandarins, who, they
say, are paid for attending to these matters.
The mayors of each commune, or county, are 86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
elected by the people; but all other political
officers, instead of being elective as formerly,
are appointed by the Emperor. Corruption,
fraud, and falsehood are the invariable charac-
teristics of every public functionary in the Em-
pire. Some of the Mandarins confessed as
much to M. Huc, and candidly avowed their
belief that the present dynasty would not last.
They are familiar with political revolutions.
Between the years 420 and 1640 of our era,
there were fifteen changes of dynasty in China,
all accompanied by bloody wars, and by the
extermination of the dethroned family. The
Mantchous have had a long lease of power
over two centuries; and if the present rebel,
Tien-te, should succeed in subverting their au-
thority, there is no reason to suppose that the
bulk of the people will pay much attention to
the change. M. Hue is a disbeliever in the
Christianity of the insurgents. His Catholic
zeal can not digest the thought that Protest-
ant missionaries should have achieved such a
triumph.
So far as religion is concerned, the Chinese
have three native sorts besides Christianity and
Mohammedanism. Formerly there was fierce
strife between the Bhuddists on one side, the
disciples of Confucius on another, and the fol-
lowers of Lao-tze on a third; and all three oc-
casionally persecuted the believers in Christ and
the Mussulmans. But, some time since, an
Emperor reviewed all these religions in a State
paper, and gave it as his imperial opinion that
none of them were worth fighting for: can-
didly advisin~ his subjects to keep clear of all
of them. His advice has been followed. Now
and then a Christian is martyred from old hab-
it; but, as a general rule, the Chinese are in-
fidels, and care nothing about religion. They
believe in the immortality of the soul, and have
some crude notion that departed souls require
money in the other worid to pay their way
among the demons; but the spirit of fraud is
so strong upon them that the money they bury
with the dead is spurious. The devil, say they,
will never know the difference.
If the Chinese have any object in life, it is
trade and money. They are born speculators.
As soon as a boy can walk, he begins to traffic
with his companions. His life is spent in buy-
ing and selling, and he will close a bargain with
his last breath. It is all the same to him wheth-
er the traffic be legal or illegal, honest or dis-
honest. From selling a house to playing at
cards or dice, they are ready for any thing which
seems to promise gain. M. Hucs palanquin-
bearers, after a day of frightful toil, would spend
the greater portion of the night in gambling.
The excess to which the vice is carried in the
cities is incredible. In the north, says M. Hue,
you may often meet, during the intense cold of
winter, men rushing out of gambling-houses in
a state of complete nudity, having lost all their
clothes at play. But this is not the worst. Men
who have lost all, including their clothes, will
play for their fingers, which they cut off with
the most frightful stoicism. Sometimes a
hatchet is placed on the table, and the winner
takes the losers hand, lays it on a stone, and
chops off the finger won: the loser thrusts the
stump into a vessel of hot oil, which cauterizes
the wound.
Want of space forbids our following M. Hue
through his interesting journey. After advent-
ures which rarely fall to the lot of the luckiest
traveler, but still without serious mishap, he
reached Canton in the month of October 1846,
six months after his departure from Lhassa in
Thibet. Almost the first thing he saw on his
arrival was an English newspaper containing a
full and particular account of his having been
fastened to the tail of a wild horse and dragged
to death. Having some reason, as he says, to
doubt the perfect accuracy of this statement, he
hastened to his friends at Macno, whose delight
at seeing him again can be conceived. Six
years elapsed before he returned to his native
land; during which he retraversed Asia, and
may possibly have collected materials for an-
other work as interesting as the one already
published.
A GIRLS DILEMMA.
THIS is the anniversary of an important day
in my life. I will keep it by recording the
events that led to h~y present position; let not
those stay to read whose hearts have grown too
old to relish a love story.
At eighteen, I was one of the most thought-
less of human beings. My widowed father, a
rich merchant, had humored every whim from
infancy, and asked nothin~ of me in return but
light-heartedness and affection. No one could
have known less than I of the shadows and sor-
rows of life, or have been more childishly occu-
pied in the present. It was the ni6ht of my
first ball, to which I was to he introduced under
the most flattering auspices; I was half-wild
with excitement, and the moment my toilet was
completed, I flew down stairs to show myself to
my father, who was not going with me, as at
first arranged, being prevented, he said, by sud-
den and insurmountable engagements. Well I
remember how impatiently I burst open the din-
ing-room door, and with what a bound of ela-
tion I sprang toward the spot where he stood,
spreading out my beautiful dress, and making
before him a sweeping courtesy. I seem to
hear now the soft rustle of lace and satin; to
feel the glow that burned on my cheeks, and
the quick throbbings of my happy heart. I had
not at first noticed, in my eagerness, that the
table was covered with papers, and that my fa-
ther was not alone. Mr. Lacy, barrister-at-law,
his friend and minefor I had known him from
my cradlesat opposite to him, and a second
glance showed me how grave and anxious were
the faces of both.
What is the matter ? I asked, laying my
hand caressingly on my fathers shoulder. He
looked at me fondly till I saw the tears brim
his eyes.

Girl's Dilemma86-91

86 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
elected by the people; but all other political
officers, instead of being elective as formerly,
are appointed by the Emperor. Corruption,
fraud, and falsehood are the invariable charac-
teristics of every public functionary in the Em-
pire. Some of the Mandarins confessed as
much to M. Huc, and candidly avowed their
belief that the present dynasty would not last.
They are familiar with political revolutions.
Between the years 420 and 1640 of our era,
there were fifteen changes of dynasty in China,
all accompanied by bloody wars, and by the
extermination of the dethroned family. The
Mantchous have had a long lease of power
over two centuries; and if the present rebel,
Tien-te, should succeed in subverting their au-
thority, there is no reason to suppose that the
bulk of the people will pay much attention to
the change. M. Hue is a disbeliever in the
Christianity of the insurgents. His Catholic
zeal can not digest the thought that Protest-
ant missionaries should have achieved such a
triumph.
So far as religion is concerned, the Chinese
have three native sorts besides Christianity and
Mohammedanism. Formerly there was fierce
strife between the Bhuddists on one side, the
disciples of Confucius on another, and the fol-
lowers of Lao-tze on a third; and all three oc-
casionally persecuted the believers in Christ and
the Mussulmans. But, some time since, an
Emperor reviewed all these religions in a State
paper, and gave it as his imperial opinion that
none of them were worth fighting for: can-
didly advisin~ his subjects to keep clear of all
of them. His advice has been followed. Now
and then a Christian is martyred from old hab-
it; but, as a general rule, the Chinese are in-
fidels, and care nothing about religion. They
believe in the immortality of the soul, and have
some crude notion that departed souls require
money in the other worid to pay their way
among the demons; but the spirit of fraud is
so strong upon them that the money they bury
with the dead is spurious. The devil, say they,
will never know the difference.
If the Chinese have any object in life, it is
trade and money. They are born speculators.
As soon as a boy can walk, he begins to traffic
with his companions. His life is spent in buy-
ing and selling, and he will close a bargain with
his last breath. It is all the same to him wheth-
er the traffic be legal or illegal, honest or dis-
honest. From selling a house to playing at
cards or dice, they are ready for any thing which
seems to promise gain. M. Hucs palanquin-
bearers, after a day of frightful toil, would spend
the greater portion of the night in gambling.
The excess to which the vice is carried in the
cities is incredible. In the north, says M. Hue,
you may often meet, during the intense cold of
winter, men rushing out of gambling-houses in
a state of complete nudity, having lost all their
clothes at play. But this is not the worst. Men
who have lost all, including their clothes, will
play for their fingers, which they cut off with
the most frightful stoicism. Sometimes a
hatchet is placed on the table, and the winner
takes the losers hand, lays it on a stone, and
chops off the finger won: the loser thrusts the
stump into a vessel of hot oil, which cauterizes
the wound.
Want of space forbids our following M. Hue
through his interesting journey. After advent-
ures which rarely fall to the lot of the luckiest
traveler, but still without serious mishap, he
reached Canton in the month of October 1846,
six months after his departure from Lhassa in
Thibet. Almost the first thing he saw on his
arrival was an English newspaper containing a
full and particular account of his having been
fastened to the tail of a wild horse and dragged
to death. Having some reason, as he says, to
doubt the perfect accuracy of this statement, he
hastened to his friends at Macno, whose delight
at seeing him again can be conceived. Six
years elapsed before he returned to his native
land; during which he retraversed Asia, and
may possibly have collected materials for an-
other work as interesting as the one already
published.
A GIRLS DILEMMA.
THIS is the anniversary of an important day
in my life. I will keep it by recording the
events that led to h~y present position; let not
those stay to read whose hearts have grown too
old to relish a love story.
At eighteen, I was one of the most thought-
less of human beings. My widowed father, a
rich merchant, had humored every whim from
infancy, and asked nothin~ of me in return but
light-heartedness and affection. No one could
have known less than I of the shadows and sor-
rows of life, or have been more childishly occu-
pied in the present. It was the ni6ht of my
first ball, to which I was to he introduced under
the most flattering auspices; I was half-wild
with excitement, and the moment my toilet was
completed, I flew down stairs to show myself to
my father, who was not going with me, as at
first arranged, being prevented, he said, by sud-
den and insurmountable engagements. Well I
remember how impatiently I burst open the din-
ing-room door, and with what a bound of ela-
tion I sprang toward the spot where he stood,
spreading out my beautiful dress, and making
before him a sweeping courtesy. I seem to
hear now the soft rustle of lace and satin; to
feel the glow that burned on my cheeks, and
the quick throbbings of my happy heart. I had
not at first noticed, in my eagerness, that the
table was covered with papers, and that my fa-
ther was not alone. Mr. Lacy, barrister-at-law,
his friend and minefor I had known him from
my cradlesat opposite to him, and a second
glance showed me how grave and anxious were
the faces of both.
What is the matter ? I asked, laying my
hand caressingly on my fathers shoulder. He
looked at me fondly till I saw the tears brim
his eyes. A GIRLS DILEMMA. 57
My darling ! he said, in an abrupt, pas-
sionate way. We will not tell her, Lacy?
It would he cruel. Let her have at least a few
more happy hours; she need not know to-night.
How will she hear it ?
Mr. Lacy looked increasingly grave. I had
become very grave too; my childish excitement
seemed to have given place to a sudden and al-
most womanly seriousness.
It is of no use hiding any thing from me,
I said, trying to smile, though I trembled from
bead to foot in vague foreboding. I could
not go to the ball now; tell me what has hap-
pened. The expression of my fathers face
deepened to anguish; he put his hands hefore
it, as if the sight of me was too painful to bear.
I turned to Mr. Lacy.
Do you tell me I I implored. Mr. Lacy
fixed upon me the fine searching eyes whose
reproof had been the sorest penalty of my life
hitherto, and kept up the scrutiny till I could
hear it no longer, earnestly and kindly as it
was. I knelt on a cushion before him, and
leaning my arms on his knees in a favorite at-
titude, I returned his gaze with a steady though
tearful one.
Try me, I said; perhaps I am more than
the giddy child you think me. Besides, it can
not be so dreadfulyou are both alive and
well!
A peculiar expression passed over Mr. Lacys
face. He seemed hesitating whether to draw
me into his arms, or to push me from him: he
did neither, but rose up suddenly, putting me
gently back, and took a few turns through the
room.
Halford, he said presently, and in agi-
tated tones, once more I renew my offer. Of
what use is wealth like mine to a lonely man?
With the help I can give, you may keep your
credit and breast this storm. You shrink from
an obligation there is a chance of your never
being able to cancel? Well, I will change
places with you. Give me in returnthat is,
if I can win her to consentyour daughter as
my wife ! My father looked up with a literal
gasp of astonishment. Mr. Lacy went on with-
out heeding him. I am a fool, no doubt, he
said; but the time has long gone by when
Mildred was a child to me. For the last two
years I have felt from the depths of my heart
that she was a woman; I have fought against
the insane wish to win her for my wife; my
age, my past relations with her, seemed to make
it a crime. Now I have spoken; God knows,
as much to save you from the disgrace you are
so obstinately bent on meeting, and her from
Lhe poverty that would crush her youth, as to
satisfy my own feelings. What she is to me
words can not say; how I will guard and love
her, my love only could prove. Mildred, what
do you say?
He paused opposite me, and took my hand:
I was like one in a dream. Love! Marriage!
Brought up as I had been at home, I had spec-
ulated less on these points than most girls of
my age. I had vague theories, indeed, gathered
from poets and novelists; and my feelings for
Mr. Lacy, a man of forty years of age, who had
nursed me as an infant, and whom I regarded
with almost unlimited reverence as one of the
best and wisest of the race, did not seem to cor-
respond with them. I was unworthy of the
honorincapable of fulfilling the office of wife
to such a man. Wife! it seemed almost blas-
phemous to mention the word to such a child
as I was. I shrank back from him toward my
father, my cheeks burning, and my eyes full of
tears.
You refuse me, Mildred ? said he. I
should be a villain to take advantage of my po-
sition, and urge you. Yet in my heart I believe
I could make you happy: what would you have
but youth that I could not give you? There
are many chances against your ever being of-
fered again a strong, honest, undivided heart
like mine. No young man could love as I do.
Mildred, what you might be to me
The strange tone of passionate earnestness
made my heart beat thick. I glanced at my
father; he was watching me with intense anxi-
ety: no need to question what his wishes were.
As for the meaning of this strange scene, I
wanted no details; enough that some monetary
crisis had come that threatened disgrace and
ruin. I could avert it; and how? By marry-
ing one whose affection might have gratified
the most ambitions heartone of the noblest of
menone I loved, though perhaps not as he
loved me. In that hour of excitement, and in
my undisciplinedmind, little was I prepared to
weigh remote possibilities and contingencies;
besides, I was ardent, excitable, apt to mistake
impulse for sentiment. Mildred, what you
might be to me ! wrought upon my sensibility;
his expression of subdued emotion still further
moved me. It never occurred to me to de-
mand time for explanation and reflection. I
felt constrained to answer him then and there.
If I were less a child, I said, blushing and
trembling if I were more your equal
It was enough: he drew near me, and clasped.
me in his arms. Child ! he said passionate-
ly; my lovemy wife ! Then releasing me,
and gazing at me seriously: You give your-
self to me willingly, Mildred; but I will not
bind you. Six months hence I will give you
back your freedom, if you are not happy; and
you will find it hard to deceive a love like
mine.
My father rose and grasped his hand in si-
lence. God bless you ! he said at length; I
would have borne much to secure such a pro-
tector for my child. Leave us, Mildred, to ar-
range some matters that can not be delayed
even till the morning. I was eager to obey,
and be alone to think; and I left the room with-
out a backward- glance.
That half hour had revolutionized my whole
being. I was aehild no longer. I locked my
bedroom door, -to give way to all the tumultu-
ous emotions of a woman. Sued for as a wife 88 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
engaged! I looked at myself in the glass,
and wondered that a man like Mr. Lacy could
love such a young unformed creature as I ap-
peared. There was an incongruity in it that
struck me painfully. Still, there was a dis-
tinction in his regard that flattered me; I had
a very high esteem for him; I was warding off
a calamity from my father; I loved no one else
no doubt I should he very happy. I sat
down on the edge of the hed, and leaned my
headlittle used to ache with such grave mat-
ters of reflectionupon my hand. Unaccus-
tomed to dream, at that moment an involun-
tary dream rose hefore my imagination. In-
stead of this strange compact, the wooing of a
youthful lover; instead of mere consent on my
part, the delicious hopes, the rkh fruition of a
conscious, active passion. Might I not have
been thus? If heauty won love, I was fair
enough; if freshness and strength of heart were
needed, how mine throbbed under the ideal
bliss! The sound of Mr. Lacys voice recalled
me to a sense of my duty to him; it was wrong
to dream of such girlish possibilities now.
He was going away, and my father had ac-
companied him to the head of the staircase. I
suppose he had asked him if he would not wish
to hid me good-night, for I heard him answer:
No; she would not wish to he disturbedI
fear to weary her. God forgive me if I am act-
ing a selfish part ! I rose up resolutely; no
more such weakness as that of the last hour;
he was worthy of a womans love and honor,
and I would give it. The next two months
passed in a state of tranquil happiness. If
manly devotion, if the most delicate and mi-
nute attentions could win a heart, mine would
have been won; and I thought it was, and re-
posed on the idea.
Mr. Lacy made no attempt to prevent my
plunge into the gay world, postponed for a while
by the late strange incidents. Now and then
he would go with me to hall or opera, hut it
was in the character of protector or spectator,
not as participant; and I felt his presence a
restraint. I was hy no means a coquette; I
strove to hear always in mind that I was his
affianced wife; hut I was only eighteen, ardent
in temperament, with high animal spirits, very
much courted and admired, and I did enter
with a keen zest into the pleasures of life. His
grave smile, in the height of my enjoyment,
used to fall like a weight on my heart.
He himself, holding an important and influ-
ential position in the world, was full of earnest
schemes of practical benevolence, of profession
al reform. He seemed to think, labor, and
write mainly with an eye to other mens inter-
ests, and those in their highest and widest hear-
ings. He liked to talk to me of these things,
and excite my moral enthusiasm; and while I
listened, he carried heart arid conviction with
him, and I felt a call to such co-operation an
honor, in which sacrifice could have no part.
Then his look of intense affection and happi-
ness, as he kissed the cheek to which his words
had hrought so deep a glow, stirred my soul,
and left no doubt on my mind that I loved him.
At the end of two months, Mr. Lacy left me
to attend a summons to his fathers death-bed.
He expressed no fears as to the result of this
separation, though I perceived a deep secret
anxiety. I shared it. I had a morbid dread
of the effect of this ahsence.
Dont leave me I I cried, clinging weeping
to his arm. I am afraid of myselfafraid of
hecoming unworthy of you.
How, Mildred ? was his answer. If you
mean you will forget me, or discover you are
mistaken in thinking you love me, it will save
us both a life-long miseryme, at least, a life-
long remorse.
For a week or two after he left me, I hardly
went into society; hut my father and friends
laughed at my playing the widow, as they called
it, and I soon resumed my former gayeties, with,
however, a certain restraint and moderation
which I felt due to Mr. Lacy.
At length the temptation heset me of which
I seemed to have had a vague presentiment
from the first evening of Mr. Lacys offer, and
it beset me under its most insidious form. My
fathers sister and nephew came to pay us a
long-talked-of visit; and even hefore they ar-
rived, I had hegun to torture myself with doubts
as to the issues of this intercourse. As children,
Frank Ingram and I had spent half our time
together; and as children had pledged ourselves
to each other. Five years had passed since we
had met, for he had been studying medicine
abroad; but an unbroken, though scanty corre-
spondence had been always kept up between the
two families. Frank had been my ideal as a
child. If I found him so stillif I were to love
him !if, wheii he came, he brought with him
that future about which I had dreamedbrought
it in vain! There was something morbid in this
state of mind; but the idea had fastened upon
me, and I could not shake it off. My very self-
mistrust was a snare.
My aunt and cousin duly arrived; and of
Frank I must speak the truth, even if I am ac-
cused of a wish to justify myself. Every charm
a young man could have, I think he possessed.
I say nothing of his personal beauty, or his in-
genuous graces of manner. I could have with-
stood these, though I had a very keen apprecia-
tion of them. But he was as full of disinter-
ested ardor in his profession as Mr. Lacy in his;
had the same deep desire to be of use in his
generationthe same unselfish plans and aspi-
rations; only he unfolded them with such a
winning self-mistrust, as if he doubted his wor-
thiness for the high vocation of benevolence,
until lie warmed into enthusiasm; and then the
passion of his speech, the very extravagance of
his youthful hopes, thrilled me with a power far
beyond the reasoned wisdom of Mr. Lacys en-
terprises. Oh! I longed to join hands with him
in his life-journey, and lend my aid to the ~vork-
ing out of his Utopia, with a spontaneous fervor
of desire never known before! A GIRLS DILEMMA. 89
Lesser things lent their aid. He was a fine
musician, and an enthusiast in the art: we prac-
ticed constantly together. He taught me how
to play and sing the German compositions he
had introduced to me. I do not wish to dwell
on details; but who does not know how subtle
n medium of love a kindred pursuit and enjoy-
ment of music is ?and Mr. Lacy had never
cared for music. Then, again, he was my per-
petual companion: at breakfast, his clear eyes
and welcoming voice opened the day; and after
its long hours of delightful intercourse, his hand
was the last I clasped at night. No attempt was
made to put any restraint upon this dangerous
companionship. My father looked npon us as
brother and sister; besides, thefactofmyen-
gagement was known, and he had the most im-
plicit confidence in his nephews honor. lie
never considered my danger, yet it was the
greater. He might be strong, but I was weak.
Ia short, I loved Frank.
A letter, announcing the probable day of Mr.
Lacys return, roused me to a conviction of the
truth. I carried it up to my room, locked the
door, and fell on my knees. What should I do?
Should I keep my secret, and sin against my
own soul by marrying one I did not love? Sure-
ly that were the worst crime of the two. What
was left me, then, but to wound a noble heart,
belie my promise, inculpate my father. It seem-
ed a dreadful alternative. After hours of ago-
nized casuistry, I could not decide, but determ-
ined to leave the final issue to chance. Did
Frank love me? Strange that I took that fact
for granted, torturing myself with the idea of
what he would sufferhe, with his young, strong
capacity for sorrow! This is not to be a long
story, so I must not stay to analyze the state of
my mind during the interval that elapsed before
Mr. Lacys return. A criminal awaiting a sure
condemnation, and that approved by his own
aching conscience, would understand my feel-
ings.
The evening came on which we expected him.
Never before had our drawing-room worn a more
happy, home-like character. My father read
the newspaper at ease in his ample chair; my
handsome, lively aunt perpetually interrupting
him with irrelevant remarks. I sat near the
tea-table, for a certain hour had been fixed, and
we waited for our guest before we began our fa-
vorite meal. I held a book, to hide the changes
of my countenance. Had I doubted my cousins
love before, I should have doubted it no longer;
how earnestly and searchingly he looked at me
how grave and sad he appeared!
The knock caine. It was natural I should
start; but it was hard to smile naturally at my
aunts pleasant raillery. Mr. Lacy came in; he
was one of those whose self-governed, serene
manner precludes flutter or embarrassment in
others. The gentle friendliness of his greeting
reassured me for the moment; under it I could
hardly imagine the strong passionate current to
exist that sometimes broke its bounds.
The evening passed smoothly and pleasantly
to all externals. Mr. Lacy was very grave, but
then it was to be expected of a son who had just
left his fathers death-bed; and my aunts ani-
mated tongue filled up the intervals when con-
versation would have flagged. Frank and I
sang together at my fathers request, for I feared
to seem unwilling; besides, it precluded the ne-
cessity of my exerting myself to talk. Frank
was very serious, and, I thought, averse to sing
with me; but at the same time he had never
sung to more advantage.
The ordeal was over at last. Mr. Lacy took
his leave, without any thing in his manner to
make me fear, or perhaps hope, that my secret
was discovered. A week passed; he was con-
stantly with us, showing me the same tenderness
as ever, somewhat graver, but as certainly more
gentle. He seemed, too, to make a point of
seeking Franks society, and spoke of him in
high terms to my father. Oh! what a heavy
heart I carried during that period. Looking in
my glass, I thought with wonder of the change
six months can work in mind and body. At
the end of those seven days, I came to a reso-
lution that nerved me with something like
strength. I thought I would seek a direct in-
terview with Mr. Lacy, tell him the whole truth,
and throw myself on his generosity. Let him
but release me from an engagement that became
every hour more intolerable to contemplate, and
I would consent to enter on no other. Let him
but free me, and I would live unmarried forever
yes, though I must take labor and poverty as
companions.
It was the very evening of the day I had
come to this decision, that I chanced to meet
Mr. Lacy on the stairs, at the hour of his usual
arrival. Here was the desired opportunity, but
I trembled to avail myself of it. He forestalled
me.
Give me a quarter of an hour alone, Mil-
dred, in the library, he said. I have wished
to have a few private words with you for days.
We went in; he placed me a chair near the
fire, and closed the door carefully, then came
up to me, standing before me as he spoke:
This day six months ago, Mildred, I made
a promise I am going to redeem. If you are
not happy, I said, I will free you from the en-
gagement you made with mc. You are not
happy. I suspected the truth from your letters
those painful lettersand I saw it confirmed
the first night of my arrival. The expression
of your face, the tone of your voice, when you
spoke to your cousin, would have set the strong-
est doubt at rest, killed the most pertinacious
hope. He pansed a moment, then went on as
calmly as before: I acquit you of all blame,
Mildred; it was I that acted the unworthy part,
taking unmanly advantage of my power to help
your father and your untried childs heart. If
I were not now the only sufferer, I could scarce-
ly bear the retrospect; but I am, thank God!
As for your father, our fears magnified his dan-
ger; the little help I was able to give, has re-
established his position as firmly as before. He 90 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
will repay me; you owe me nothing. I have
had a wild dream, hut I am awake at last
awake enough to see it was a fools idea that a
man like me could win a young girls heart.
He was calm no longer; but he turned abrupt-
ly away to hide his emotion.
Mr. Lacy, I cried, striving to stifle the con-
flict of my love, I would fain do right. I have
a deep esteem for youI I broke off.
Give me a little time, I added, passionately
renewing the effort; I shall conquer this love
of mineI will become worthy of you, after
all!
Conquer the purest feeling of a womans
heart! Offer yourself a sacrifice to my selfish-
ness! No, no; Mildred, yours is the season of
blessednessmine is already past. Presently,
I will come back to you in my old character, and
be able to say with less difficulty than I do to-
night, God bless you both. I will kiss you
for the last time.
He clasped me in his arms, and kissed me,
seemingly with more earnestness than passion,
but it was the very depth of passion. As the
door closed upon him, a strange impulse seized
me. I longed to call him back. Was it true I
did not love him?
I saw none of my family that evening, for I
went at once to my room. What a night of
misery and conflict I passed!
The next morning Frank came to my private
sitting-room, and knocked for admittance. He~
held a letter in his hand; his fine eyes were
suffused with happiness.
Sympathize with me, Mildred, he said; I
feel too much to bear it alone. I have never
talked to you about her, for I could not trust
myself with the subject while a doubt remained.
Now, I will tell you about my darling; she is
as worthy of a true mans heart asas Mr. Lacy
is of yours. By the way, Mildred, I was very
anxious about you that night he came home, for
your manner was notnot what, were I in his
place, would have satisfied me; but that is the
form a womans caprice takes with you, I have
concluded. As for not loving him at bottom, I
dont dare so to impugn my noble cousins heart
and understanding.
Frank talked on long and earnestlytold me
the story of his love, read me his letter; but I
heard nothing distinctly, understood nothing
fully. One fact I grasped, that he was going to
leave me to-morrowgoing to this darling of
hisand that if I had a spark of dignity and
womanly sense left, I must excite it now. I
dont know how I bore my martyrdom ; but I
won its crown. Frank bade me good-by with-
out a susl)icion of the truth.
I ran once more to the solitude of my cham-
ber. I felt abandonedprostrate. I flung my-
self on the bed in a transport of despair. Why,
I had lost all! Had-I been so criminal that my
punishment was so heavy? Oh, Frank ! I
cried, how I have loved youwhat life might
have been ! Then I reflected, if Mr. Lacy loved
me as I loved my cousin, what a fine spirit and
nature he had shown; what a rare gift such a
heart was! Miserable as I was, it was deeper
misery to think I was the cause of his.
I was very ill after these events, and fears for
my health quite absorbed any anger my father
might have felt at the disappointment of a cher-
ished desire, or perhaps Mr. Lacy, by his repre-
sentations, had shielded me against it. When
I recovered, people said I was very much al-
tered; and so I was. The flush of youth was
passed; I was not twenty, but nothing of the
childishness of a few months back was left.
Frank was married; and Mr. Lacy we never
sawat least I never saw him. Disappoint-
ment had made life an earnest thing to me;
and taught by its discipline, the character of my
former lover rose in dignity in my eyes.
How was it that what I had thought would
be a life-long regretmy love for my cousin
seemed a transient emotion, of which the traces
grew daily feebler. Had I sacrificed my hap-
piness to a passing fancy? Or was it that at
my age one can not long cling to the impossible?
Little signified the seeming contrariety of my
heart, for the fact remainedif I had never
loved Mr. Lacy before, I loved him now. I
thought perpetually of the incidents of our brief
engagementevery word of endearment, every
embrace, had its hold on my memory. I re-
called his opinions, framing my own stringently
by them, and followed his public career so far
as I was able, aided by my deep knowledge of
the high principles and motives that actuated it.
The feeling grew in silence, till my former
love for Frank was but a childs dream in com-
parison. To hear his name mentioned, and al-
ways mentioned in connection with something
honorable, moved me with a strange passion of
feelingand he had loved me! Oh! did he
love me yet?
Time passed, and I had long resumed my
former relations with society, and had met with
successes enough to gratify my heart had vanity
been my ruling passion, or could I have adopted
it in place of the one which was secretly sapping
the fresh springs of life. Sometimes the idea
occurred, that it might he possible, without any
compromise of womanly dignity, to ascertain his
feelings for me, and if they remained unchanged,
to teach him the change in mine; and then I
fell into that coloring of a bright future which
seems to be the ordained and Sisyphus-like pen-
alty of the unhappy.
My chance came at last. At a large dinner~
party, I unexpectedly met Mr. Lacy. He came
to me at once; spoke kindly and gently, as in
long-past times; but there was nothing to lead
to the idea that he still loved meno hesitation
in the well-known voice, no latent tenderness
in the searching eyes. I could not bear it, and
wished he would leave me to myself, and not
torture me with that cruel friendship. At my
first opportunity I turned from him, and en-
gaged myself in conversation with a gentleman
who was well known to be one of my suitors.
It appeared like coquetry, but it was the eager- PASSING FACES. 91
ness of self-mistrust. That evening seemed very
long, and insupportably painful; I had not known
how tenaciously I had clung to hope until it
failed me. When Mr. Lacy came forward to
help me to my carriage, I felt I could hardly re-
ceive the ordinary civility from him without be-
traying myself.
I was surprised when he begged me to turn
into an empty room we passed on our way to
the hall. Mildred, he said, I was going to
ask you, when we first met to-night, whether I
might resume my old relations in your family.
Nearly two years have passed since we last met,
and I thought I could bring you back the calm
heart of a friend. But you have so studiously
shunned me, that to ask permission now seems
superfluous. What am I to think? Have you
not forgiven me yet for the misery I cost you ?
I was silent. If I could have fallen at his
feet, and sobbed out the truth, I might have
been blessed for life; but that would have been
too great a sacrifice for even love to exact from
a womans pride.
If the deepest sympathy in your disappoint-
ment could entitle me to the character of a
friend, Mr. Lacy pursued, you would give
me your hand willingly. Pardon me, Mildred,
for what may seem an unmanly allusion, but it
is best to make itif there is any chance of fu-
ture friendship between us. It was hard to give
you up, harder still to feel the sacrifice had been
in vain. Had you been happily married, I could
have returned to you sooner; but suffering, and
to feel I had no power to soothe
This generosity was too much for me. I
rose up hastily from the seat I had taken. I
can not bear it, I said rashly; the past has
been cruel enough, but this is worse than all.
Oh, I am miserable! Friends we can never be
let me go home ! I spoke with the fretful-
ness of a child; lie looked amazed.
Am I again deceived ? he asked. I was
told that the gentleman I saw with you this
evening, Mr. Branson, was your accepted lover.
I know him well; he deserves you, Mildred. I
rejoiced to see you bright and animated, as you
used to be, in his societyto think there was no
blight on the future for you at least. What can
you mean? You will not risk, surely, the hap-
piness of both? Pardon me, he added, color-
ing, I forget I have not even a friends right
to warn.
On the brink of ones fate, to deliberate is to
lose all.
Mr. Branson is nothing to me, I said, white
and trembling, and will never be more; the
past will not let itself be so soon forgotten.
My tone seemed to excite him.
Mildred! he exclaimed passionately, did
you, then, love him so much? Ah! had mine
been the power ! He drew a long breath, and
fixed for a moment a gaze on my face that
solved my last doubt, broke down the last bar-
rier.
Frank has long been forgotten, I said, and
instinctively I held out my hand that was a
childs love. What I want of the future, is to
be what the past once promised, Mr. Lacy.
I had stood erect, and spoken audibly up to
this point; but here my bead drooped, my cheeks
burned, yet from no ignoble shame. One quick
glance of searching astonishment, one rapturous
exclamation, and I was folded in his arms.
Mildred, forgive my doubt. You have re-
gretted meyou love me ?
Beyond what you have asked, I stammered,
hidiugmyface on his sboulderbeyond friend-
ship. I feel I have found my ark of refuge
PASSING FACES.
WE have no need to go abroad to study eth-
nology. A walk through the streets of
any great city will show us specimens of every
human variety known. Not pur sang, of course,
but transmitted (diluted too) through the Anglo-
Saxon mediumspecial characteristics neces-
sarily not left very sharply defined. It takes a
tolerably quick eye, and the educated percep-
tions of an artist, to trace the original lines
through the successive shadings made by many
generations of a different race. But still those
lines are to be seen by all who know how to
look for them, or who understand them when
they are before them.
It is perfectly incredible what a large num-
ber of ugly people one sees. One wonders
where they can possibly have come fromfrom
what invading tribe of savages or monkeys.
We meet faces that are scarcely humanposi-
tively brutified out of all trace of intelligence
by vice, gin, and want of education; but besides
this sad class, there are the simply ugly faces,
with all the lines turned the wrong way, and all
the colors in the wrong places; and then there
are the bird and beast faces, of which Gavarni s
caricatures are faithful portraits. Doesnt every
body count a crane and a secretary-bird among
his acquaintances? tall men, with sloping shoul-
ders and slender legs, with long necks, which
no cravat or stock can cover, with small heads
if a crane, the hair cropped short ; if a secre-
tary-bird, worn long and flung back upon the
shoulders, that look as if they were sliding
down-hill in a fright. These are the men who
are called elegantgood lord !and who mann-
der through life in a daft state of simpering
dilettanteism, but who never thought a man s
thought, nor did a mans work, since they were
born. Every one knows, too, the hawks face
about gambling-tables and down in the city
very commonand the rooks, and the jack-
daws; and some of us are troubled with the
distressing neighborhood of a foolish man-snipe,
and some of us have had our intimate owls and
favorite parrots; though the man-parrot is not
a desirable companion in general.
But the beast-faces, there is no limit to them!
Dogs alone supply the outlines of half the por-
traits we know. There is the bull-dogthat
man in the brown suit yonder, with bandy legs
and heavy shoulders: did you ever see a ken-
neled muzzle more thoroughly the bull-dog than

Passing Faces91-94

PASSING FACES. 91
ness of self-mistrust. That evening seemed very
long, and insupportably painful; I had not known
how tenaciously I had clung to hope until it
failed me. When Mr. Lacy came forward to
help me to my carriage, I felt I could hardly re-
ceive the ordinary civility from him without be-
traying myself.
I was surprised when he begged me to turn
into an empty room we passed on our way to
the hall. Mildred, he said, I was going to
ask you, when we first met to-night, whether I
might resume my old relations in your family.
Nearly two years have passed since we last met,
and I thought I could bring you back the calm
heart of a friend. But you have so studiously
shunned me, that to ask permission now seems
superfluous. What am I to think? Have you
not forgiven me yet for the misery I cost you ?
I was silent. If I could have fallen at his
feet, and sobbed out the truth, I might have
been blessed for life; but that would have been
too great a sacrifice for even love to exact from
a womans pride.
If the deepest sympathy in your disappoint-
ment could entitle me to the character of a
friend, Mr. Lacy pursued, you would give
me your hand willingly. Pardon me, Mildred,
for what may seem an unmanly allusion, but it
is best to make itif there is any chance of fu-
ture friendship between us. It was hard to give
you up, harder still to feel the sacrifice had been
in vain. Had you been happily married, I could
have returned to you sooner; but suffering, and
to feel I had no power to soothe
This generosity was too much for me. I
rose up hastily from the seat I had taken. I
can not bear it, I said rashly; the past has
been cruel enough, but this is worse than all.
Oh, I am miserable! Friends we can never be
let me go home ! I spoke with the fretful-
ness of a child; lie looked amazed.
Am I again deceived ? he asked. I was
told that the gentleman I saw with you this
evening, Mr. Branson, was your accepted lover.
I know him well; he deserves you, Mildred. I
rejoiced to see you bright and animated, as you
used to be, in his societyto think there was no
blight on the future for you at least. What can
you mean? You will not risk, surely, the hap-
piness of both? Pardon me, he added, color-
ing, I forget I have not even a friends right
to warn.
On the brink of ones fate, to deliberate is to
lose all.
Mr. Branson is nothing to me, I said, white
and trembling, and will never be more; the
past will not let itself be so soon forgotten.
My tone seemed to excite him.
Mildred! he exclaimed passionately, did
you, then, love him so much? Ah! had mine
been the power ! He drew a long breath, and
fixed for a moment a gaze on my face that
solved my last doubt, broke down the last bar-
rier.
Frank has long been forgotten, I said, and
instinctively I held out my hand that was a
childs love. What I want of the future, is to
be what the past once promised, Mr. Lacy.
I had stood erect, and spoken audibly up to
this point; but here my bead drooped, my cheeks
burned, yet from no ignoble shame. One quick
glance of searching astonishment, one rapturous
exclamation, and I was folded in his arms.
Mildred, forgive my doubt. You have re-
gretted meyou love me ?
Beyond what you have asked, I stammered,
hidiugmyface on his sboulderbeyond friend-
ship. I feel I have found my ark of refuge
PASSING FACES.
WE have no need to go abroad to study eth-
nology. A walk through the streets of
any great city will show us specimens of every
human variety known. Not pur sang, of course,
but transmitted (diluted too) through the Anglo-
Saxon mediumspecial characteristics neces-
sarily not left very sharply defined. It takes a
tolerably quick eye, and the educated percep-
tions of an artist, to trace the original lines
through the successive shadings made by many
generations of a different race. But still those
lines are to be seen by all who know how to
look for them, or who understand them when
they are before them.
It is perfectly incredible what a large num-
ber of ugly people one sees. One wonders
where they can possibly have come fromfrom
what invading tribe of savages or monkeys.
We meet faces that are scarcely humanposi-
tively brutified out of all trace of intelligence
by vice, gin, and want of education; but besides
this sad class, there are the simply ugly faces,
with all the lines turned the wrong way, and all
the colors in the wrong places; and then there
are the bird and beast faces, of which Gavarni s
caricatures are faithful portraits. Doesnt every
body count a crane and a secretary-bird among
his acquaintances? tall men, with sloping shoul-
ders and slender legs, with long necks, which
no cravat or stock can cover, with small heads
if a crane, the hair cropped short ; if a secre-
tary-bird, worn long and flung back upon the
shoulders, that look as if they were sliding
down-hill in a fright. These are the men who
are called elegantgood lord !and who mann-
der through life in a daft state of simpering
dilettanteism, but who never thought a man s
thought, nor did a mans work, since they were
born. Every one knows, too, the hawks face
about gambling-tables and down in the city
very commonand the rooks, and the jack-
daws; and some of us are troubled with the
distressing neighborhood of a foolish man-snipe,
and some of us have had our intimate owls and
favorite parrots; though the man-parrot is not
a desirable companion in general.
But the beast-faces, there is no limit to them!
Dogs alone supply the outlines of half the por-
traits we know. There is the bull-dogthat
man in the brown suit yonder, with bandy legs
and heavy shoulders: did you ever see a ken-
neled muzzle more thoroughly the bull-dog than 92 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
this? The small eyes close under the brows,
the smooth bullet forehead, heavy jaw, and
snub nose, all are essentially of the bull-dog
breed, and at the same time essentially British.
Then the mastiff, with the double-bass voice
and the square hanging jaw; and the shabby-
looking taraspit, with his hair staring out at all
sides, and his eyes drawn up to its roots; and
the greyhound, lean of rib and sharp of face;
and the terrierwho is often a lawyerwith a
snarl in his voice and a kind of restlessness in
his eye, as if mentally worrying a rathis client;
and the Skye, all beard and mustache and
glossy curls, with a plaintive expression of
countenance and an exceedingly meek demean-
or; and the noble old Newfoundland dog, per-
haps a brave old soldier from active service,
who is chivalrous to women and gentle to chil-
dren, and who repels petty annoyances with a
grand patience that is veritably heroic. Reader,
if you know a Newfoundland-dog man, cherish
him: stupid as he probably will be, yet he is
worth your love. Then we have horse-faced
men; and men like camels, with quite the
camel lip; and the sheep-faced man, with the
forehead retreating from his long energetic nose
smooth men without whiskers, and with shin-
ing hair cut close, and not curling, like pointers;
the lion-manhe is a grand fellow; and the
bull-headed man; the flat serpent head; and
the tigers, like an inverted pyramid; the gi-
raffes lengthy unhelpfulness; and the sharp red
face of the fox. Dont we meet men like these
at every step we take? and if we know any such
intimately, dont we invariably find that their
characters correspond somewhat with their per-
sons?
The women, toowe have likenesses for
them. I know a woman who might have been
the ancestress of all the rabbits in the land. A
soft downy-looking, fair, placid woman, with
long hair looping down like ears, and an inno-
cent face of mingled timidity and surprise. She
is a sweet-tempered thing, always eating or
sleeping; who breathes hard when she goes
up stairs, and who has as few brains in working
order as a human being can get on with. She
is just a human rabbit, and nothing more; and
she looks like one. We all know the setter
womanthe best of all the typesgraceful,
animated, ~vell-formed, intelligent, with large
eyes and wavy hair, who walks with a firm
tread but a light one, and who can turn her
hand to any thing. The true setter woman is
always married; she is the real woman of the
world. Then there is the Blenheim Spaniel,
who covers up her face in her ringlets and holds
down her head when she talks, and who is shy
and timid. And there is the greyhound woman,
with lantern-jaws and braided hair, and large
knuckles, generally rather distorted. There is
the cat woman, too; elegant, stealthy, clever,
caressing; who walks without noise, and is
great in the way of endearment. No limbs
are so supple as hers, no backbone so wonder-
fully pliant; no voice so sweet, no manners so
endearing. She extracts your secrets from you
before you know that you have spoken; and
half an hours conversation with that graceful,
purring woman, has revealed to her every most
dangerous fact it has been your lifes study to
hide. The cat woman is a dangerous animal.
She has claws hidden in that velvet paw, and
she can draw blood when she unsheathes them.
Then there is the cow-faced woman, generally
of phlegmatic temperament and melancholy
disposition, given to pious books and teeto-
talism. And there is the lurcher woman, the
strong-visaged strong-minded female, who wears
rough coats with mens pockets and large bone
buttons, and whose bonnets fling a spiteful de-
fiance at both beauty and fashion. This is that
wonderful creature who electrifies foreigners by
climbing their mountains in a mongrel kind of
attire, in which mens cloth trowsers form the
most striking feature; and who goes about the
business of life in a rough, gruff, lurcher-like
fashion, as if grace and beauty were the two
cardinal sins of womanhood, and she were on
a mission to put them down. This is not a
desirable animal. We have women like mer-
mo sheep: they wear their hair over their eyes
and far on to their necks. And women like
poodle dogs, with fuzzy heads and round eyes;
women like kangaroos, with short arms and a
clumsy kind of hop when they walk; and we
have active, intelligent little women, with just
the faintest suspicion of a rats face on them, as
they look watchfully after the servants and in-
spect the mysteries of the jam closet. Then
there are pretty little loving marmoset faces.
I know the very transcript of the golden-haired
Silky Tamarin. It is a gentle, plaintive, loving
creature, with large liquid brown eyes, that have
always a tear behind them and a look of soft
reproach in them; its hair hangs in a profusion
of golden-brown curlsnot curls so much as a
mass of waving tresses; it is a creeping, nest-
ling, clinging thing, that seems as if it wants
always to bury itself in some ones armsas if
the world outside were all too large and cold for
it. There is the horse-faced woman, too, as
well as the horse-faced man; and there is the
turn-spit woman, with her ragged head and
blunt common nose. In fact, there are female
varieties of all the male types we have mention-
ed, excepting, perhaps, the lion woman. I have
never seen a true lion-headed woman, except-
ing in that black Egyptian figure, sitting with
her hands on her two knees, and grinning grim-
ly on the Museum world, as Babastis, the lion-
headed goddess of the Nile.
Well, then, as we walk through the street we
have two subjects of contemplation in the pass-
ing faces hurrying bytheir races and their like-
nesses. Now to their social condition and their
histories, stamped on them as legibly as arms
are painted on a carriage panel.
In every city are several varieties. There are
the smart men, who wear jaunty hats and well-
trimmed mustaches; who drive to their places
of business in cabs, and who evidently think PASSING FACES. 93
they are paying commerce a compliment by
making their fortunes out of it. And there are
the staid, respectable city men, who live in the
suburbs, ride in omnibuses, and wear greatcoats
of superseded cut; who carry umbrellas, shaven
chins, and short whiskers, and are emphatically
the city men. And there are equivocal-look-
ing men, who are evidently unsubstantial spec-
ulators without capital, and who trade on airy
thousands when they want money enough to
buy a dinner. Dont we all know these men,
with their keen faces and bad hats, their eager
walk and trowsers bulged out at the knees?
Dont we all know the very turn of their black
satin handkerchief pinned with that paste pin
a claw holding a pearlall sham, every bit
of it, excepting the claw, which is allegorical
and folded so as to hide the soiled and crumpled
shirt? Dont we see by their very boots that
they are men of straw? For by right of un-
paid bills, the landlady is impertinent or the
servant disrespectful, and these necessary cover-
ings are therefore left in a dusty and unenlight-
ened condition. These are the men who are
the curse of the commercial world. Unsern-
pulons, shifty, careless of the ruin which their
false schemes may bring on their dupes when
the bubble bursts and the day of reckoning
comes. In the city, too, about the doors of the
banks, and offices, and the city clubs, are stand-
ing old men dirty and worn. Perhaps they
were once clerks in the very offices at the doors
of which they now lounge to serve any cab or
carriage that may drive up. You never see
such men any where but in the city; not with
the same amount of intelligence and abject
poverty combined. In better days they may
perhaps have shoveled you out gold in shining
scoops, or have checked your cash-book for
thousands.
Then there are Jews; with that clever, sens-
ual, crafty countenance, which contains the
epitome of the whole Hebrew history; with
their jewelry and flashy dress. And there are
young thieves, with downcast eyes and a whole-
some fear of the policeman; but every now and
then a sharp glance that seems to take in a
whole world of purses and pockets, and to sub-
tract your money like magic from your hand.
These have generally an older lad, or young
man, lounging near them. You would scarce-
ly believe him their companion, he looks so
staid and respectable; but he is. The young
thieves are not confined to the city, unhappily.
You see them every where. Turning vaguely
down any street where they think they see a
victim; walking without aim or purpose or busi-
ness in their walk; dressed incongruously
with some one, or perhaps two articles of dress
perfectly good, and the rest in tatters; bearing
no signs of special trade or of work about them;
a strange kind of cunning, rather than of intel-
ligence, in their faces: these are the marks of
the thieves.
Turning westward, carriages and mustaches
increase; queerly-dressed people and carts de-
VOL. XI.No. 6l.G
crease. You see fewer policemen, as such; but
more acute-looking men in plain clothes, on the
look out for evidence or a criminal. And you
see more ladies. Here is one in all the pride
of her new maternity, walking with nurse by
her side carrying baby in a maze of ribbons,
laces, and embroidery. Sometimes it is a blue
baby, sometimes a pink one, or a light green,
or a stone color; not often a white one in the
town because of the soot. You read in the
face of this young wife pleasant revelations of
love and happiness, with all the gloss of new-
ness on the marriage ring as yet. You read
of a pretty home, with the clean, bright furni-
ture arranged like pretty playthings, and re-ar-
ranged almost daily; of sisters coming to stay,
full of pride and love, and thinking Henry the
most charming brother possible.
You meet the strong-minded woman always,
and always recognizable under her various dis-
guisesthe lurcher still and ever. And you
meet the silly little woman whose bonnets are
farther off her head, whose petticoats are longer
especially in dirty weatherand whose cloaks
are shorter, than every bodys else; orange girls
with bloated faces, flattened bonnets, and torn
shawls; butter boys with greasy jackets; butch-
er boys with greasy hair; newspaper boys, im-
pudent and vocal; ragged school boys, in red
jackets or green, cleaning your honors shoes
for a penny, and with a strange expression of
hope and redemption in their faces; tigers,
pagesall buttons and silver lace, poor mon-
keys; vulgar boys coming from school; foreign-
ers with beards, hooded cloaks, slouched hats,
and smoking; artists imitating themvery bad-
ly; shopmen, oily and pert; country clergymen
up for the day, with tt train of women the re-
verse of fashionable; workmen, all lime and
paint; pretty girls and lovely children: this is
the city world as seen in the streets, and met
with every day.
And what a world it is, as it passes so swift-
ly by! The hopes, the joys, the deadly fears;
the triumph here, the ruin there; the quiet
heroism, the secret sinwhat a tumult of hu-
man passions burning like fire in the volcano
of human life! Look at that pale woman, with
red eyes, sunken cheeks, and that painful thin-
ness of the shabby genteel. She is the wife of
a gambler, once an honorable and a wealthy
man, now sunk to the lowest depths of moral
degradationfast sinking to the lowest depths
of social poverty as well, lie came home last
ni,ht half mad. The broad bruise on her
shoulder, beneath that flimsy shawl, would tell
its own tale if you saw it. Tier husbands hand
used once to fall in a softer fashion there than
it fell last night. She has come to-day to pawn
some of her clothes; the first time in her miser-
able career that this task has been forced on
her: by this day next year she will have known
every pawnbrokers shop in the quarter. Lucky
for her, if she does not come to know every
ginshop as well! This little woman laughing
in the shrill voice, ran away from her home aHARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
year ago. She is laughing now to choke back WATER CURE.
the tears which gushed to her strained eyes as Having our minds sprinkled from an cvii conscience.
the baby in the white long cloak was carried and our bodies washed with pure water.
by. She left one about the same age on the ~~NOW, if I knewLord help me! I often
hot snmmers night when she fled from all that feel as if I did not knowwhether the
good men reverence. Those tears show that next life be any better than this, whether get-
conscience is not all dead within her yet. Poor ting rid of the body be any advantage to the soul
mother! the day will come when that false before heaven I would gladly die to-morrow !
laughter will no longer choke back those peni- By Jove! Alick, Ibavent the slightest wish
tent sobs; when you will forget to smile, and of the kind.
learn to weep and pray! The downcast man We twoAustin Hardy and Alexander Fyfe
stalking moodily along has just lost his last far- as we sat over the fire in my lodgings, in Bur-
thing on the Stock Exchange. He is going ton Crescent, were not bad types of two classes
home now to break the news to his wife, and to of men, not rare in this our day, who may stand
arrange for a flight to California or Australia. convicted as moral suicidesmind-murderers
He, this moment jostling him, was married last and body-murderers.
week to an heiress, and a pretty one too: he is We were cousins, but at the opposite poles of
humming an opera tune as he wnlks briskly societyhe was rich, I poor. The world lured
home to his temporary lodgings, and wondering him, and scouted me; its pit of perdition was
what people can find in life to make them so opened wide for us both; but he was kissed, and
miserable and dull! For his part, he finds this I was kicked, into it. Now we both found our-
world a jolly place enough; and so might others, selves clinging to its brink, and glaring help-
too, if they chose, he says. That pale youth lessly at one another from opposite sides, won-
sauntering feebly, dined out last night, and dering which would be the first to let go, and
woke with a headache this morning. He wears drop towhere?
a glass in his eye, and is qualifying himself for It was the 1st of November. I had sat hour
manliness anddeath, by a course of dissipa- after hour, the MS. ofmylast book before me; the
tion. He has just come to his fortune, which finished half on my left hand grinned fiendishly
he wont enjoy many years, unless he finds out at the unfinished half on my rightto wit, a
that he is living the life of a fooland he must heap of blank sheets, two hundred; two hundred
grow wiser before he can find out that. The pages that, by Christmas, must be coveredcoy-
clean respectable woman of middle age is a ered, too, with the best fruit of my soul, my
gentlemans housekeeper coming from her visits heart, and my brains; else, my dear friend, the
among the poor. She has just taken some wine public would say, compassionately, Poor fel-
to a sick woman down in a filthy street, and low! he has written himself out ; or, sneeringly,
some socks and flannel to a family of destitute If these authors did but know when to stop 1
children. There is much more of this kind of Stop ?with life and all its daily needs, du-
charity than we see on the surface of society; ties, pleasantnesspshaw! I may draw my pen
though still not so much as is wanted. The through tAut wordhammering incessantly at
sweet-looking girl walking alone, and dressed the door! with old Ages ugly face, solitary and
nil in dove-color, is an authoress; and the man poor, peering in at the windowstop, indeed!
with bright eyes and black hair, who has just I was in tbis agreeable state of mind, when
lifted his hat to her and walks on, with a certain my cousin Austin lounged into my room on that
slouch in his shoulders that belongs to a man of November day.
business, is an author, and an editor; a Pope, Do I interrupt you ? he said, for he was a
a Jupiter, a Czar in his own domain, against kindly-hearted fellow, though not over-burdened
whose fiat there is neither redress nor appeal. with brains, and wholly uninitiate in the life of
No despotism is equal to the despotism of an literature.
editor. Interrupt! no, my good fellow. I wish you
Pass oncrowds on crowds still meet; and did, said I, ivith a groan. There is nothing
face after face, full of meaning, turned toward to interrupt. One might as well spin a thread-
you as you pass; signs of all nations and races of-gold gown out of that spider-line, dangling
of men pass you, unknown of all and to them- from the ceiling, as weave a story out of this
selves whence they came; beasts and birds skull of minethis squeezed sponge, this ccl-
dressed in human form; tragedies in broad- lapsed bladder; its good for nothing but a din-
cloth, farces in rags; passions sweeping through ing-hall to a select party of worms.
the air like tropical storms, and silent virtues Eh ? said he, innocently uncomprehending.
stealing by like moonlight; LIFE, in all its Never mind. What of yourself, Hardy?
boundless power of joy and sufferingthis is How is the hunting and the shooting, the betting
the great picture-book to be read in the streets and the play-going, the dinner-parties and the
of a mighty city; these are the wild notes to balls ?
be listened to; this the strange mass of pathos, All over.
poetry, caricature, and beauty which lie heaped He shook his head, and a severe fit of cough-
up together without order er distinctive head- ing convulsed his large, strong-built frame.
ing, and which men endorse as Society and the Im booked for the other world. I wish
World. you were my heir.

Water Cure94-112

HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
year ago. She is laughing now to choke back WATER CURE.
the tears which gushed to her strained eyes as Having our minds sprinkled from an cvii conscience.
the baby in the white long cloak was carried and our bodies washed with pure water.
by. She left one about the same age on the ~~NOW, if I knewLord help me! I often
hot snmmers night when she fled from all that feel as if I did not knowwhether the
good men reverence. Those tears show that next life be any better than this, whether get-
conscience is not all dead within her yet. Poor ting rid of the body be any advantage to the soul
mother! the day will come when that false before heaven I would gladly die to-morrow !
laughter will no longer choke back those peni- By Jove! Alick, Ibavent the slightest wish
tent sobs; when you will forget to smile, and of the kind.
learn to weep and pray! The downcast man We twoAustin Hardy and Alexander Fyfe
stalking moodily along has just lost his last far- as we sat over the fire in my lodgings, in Bur-
thing on the Stock Exchange. He is going ton Crescent, were not bad types of two classes
home now to break the news to his wife, and to of men, not rare in this our day, who may stand
arrange for a flight to California or Australia. convicted as moral suicidesmind-murderers
He, this moment jostling him, was married last and body-murderers.
week to an heiress, and a pretty one too: he is We were cousins, but at the opposite poles of
humming an opera tune as he wnlks briskly societyhe was rich, I poor. The world lured
home to his temporary lodgings, and wondering him, and scouted me; its pit of perdition was
what people can find in life to make them so opened wide for us both; but he was kissed, and
miserable and dull! For his part, he finds this I was kicked, into it. Now we both found our-
world a jolly place enough; and so might others, selves clinging to its brink, and glaring help-
too, if they chose, he says. That pale youth lessly at one another from opposite sides, won-
sauntering feebly, dined out last night, and dering which would be the first to let go, and
woke with a headache this morning. He wears drop towhere?
a glass in his eye, and is qualifying himself for It was the 1st of November. I had sat hour
manliness anddeath, by a course of dissipa- after hour, the MS. ofmylast book before me; the
tion. He has just come to his fortune, which finished half on my left hand grinned fiendishly
he wont enjoy many years, unless he finds out at the unfinished half on my rightto wit, a
that he is living the life of a fooland he must heap of blank sheets, two hundred; two hundred
grow wiser before he can find out that. The pages that, by Christmas, must be coveredcoy-
clean respectable woman of middle age is a ered, too, with the best fruit of my soul, my
gentlemans housekeeper coming from her visits heart, and my brains; else, my dear friend, the
among the poor. She has just taken some wine public would say, compassionately, Poor fel-
to a sick woman down in a filthy street, and low! he has written himself out ; or, sneeringly,
some socks and flannel to a family of destitute If these authors did but know when to stop 1
children. There is much more of this kind of Stop ?with life and all its daily needs, du-
charity than we see on the surface of society; ties, pleasantnesspshaw! I may draw my pen
though still not so much as is wanted. The through tAut wordhammering incessantly at
sweet-looking girl walking alone, and dressed the door! with old Ages ugly face, solitary and
nil in dove-color, is an authoress; and the man poor, peering in at the windowstop, indeed!
with bright eyes and black hair, who has just I was in tbis agreeable state of mind, when
lifted his hat to her and walks on, with a certain my cousin Austin lounged into my room on that
slouch in his shoulders that belongs to a man of November day.
business, is an author, and an editor; a Pope, Do I interrupt you ? he said, for he was a
a Jupiter, a Czar in his own domain, against kindly-hearted fellow, though not over-burdened
whose fiat there is neither redress nor appeal. with brains, and wholly uninitiate in the life of
No despotism is equal to the despotism of an literature.
editor. Interrupt! no, my good fellow. I wish you
Pass oncrowds on crowds still meet; and did, said I, ivith a groan. There is nothing
face after face, full of meaning, turned toward to interrupt. One might as well spin a thread-
you as you pass; signs of all nations and races of-gold gown out of that spider-line, dangling
of men pass you, unknown of all and to them- from the ceiling, as weave a story out of this
selves whence they came; beasts and birds skull of minethis squeezed sponge, this ccl-
dressed in human form; tragedies in broad- lapsed bladder; its good for nothing but a din-
cloth, farces in rags; passions sweeping through ing-hall to a select party of worms.
the air like tropical storms, and silent virtues Eh ? said he, innocently uncomprehending.
stealing by like moonlight; LIFE, in all its Never mind. What of yourself, Hardy?
boundless power of joy and sufferingthis is How is the hunting and the shooting, the betting
the great picture-book to be read in the streets and the play-going, the dinner-parties and the
of a mighty city; these are the wild notes to balls ?
be listened to; this the strange mass of pathos, All over.
poetry, caricature, and beauty which lie heaped He shook his head, and a severe fit of cough-
up together without order er distinctive head- ing convulsed his large, strong-built frame.
ing, and which men endorse as Society and the Im booked for the other world. I wish
World. you were my heir. WATER CURE. 95
Thank you; but, for so brief a possession,
it wouldnt be worth my while.
I lit a candle, and we stood contemplating
one another. Finally, we each made the re-
marks with which I have commenced this his-
tory. Let us continue it now.
Why do you want to die, Alexander Fyfe ?
To escape the trouble of living. Live !its
only existing; I dont liveI never lived. What
is life but having ones full powers free to use,
to command, to enjoy? I have none of these.
My body hampers my mind, my mind destroys
my body, and circumstances make slaves of both.
I look withouteverything is ablank; within
I beg to state, as I did to Austin the next
minute, that I am not used to whine in this way;
but I was ill,and I had sat for five hours with
a blank page before me, upon which I had writ-
ten precisely five lines.
Austins face expressed the utmost astonish-
ment.
Why, I djdnt know youhad any thing amiss;
you always seem to me the healthiest fellow
alive. A successful author, with only yourself
to look afterno property, no establishment, no
responsibilities; just a little bit of writing to do
each day, and be paid for it, and all is right.
I laughed at his amusing picture of an au-
thors existence.
Then, so hermit-like as you live here, all
among your books. My poor dear aunt herself,
if she could see you
Hush! Austin.
Well, I ~vill; but all the world knows what
a good woman she was. Saint-like fellow you
are, easy enough, and you have no temptation
to be otherwise. Now, I am obliged to go post-
haste to destruction, if only to save myself from
dying of ennui.
Another fit of coughing cut him short. I for-
got my own despair in pitying his, for he seemed
to hold that cheating vixen Life with such a
frantic clutch, and she was so visibly slipping
from him. There, at least, I was better off than
he. This world was all my terror; of that to
come, dark as its mysteries were, I hnd no ab-
solute fear.
Youre hard up, Austin, my boy. What are
you going to do ?
Nothing. It isnt consumption, they say.
It ~vill turn to asthma, most likelyasthma
brought on by Its a pretty confession to make
at my time of life; but you and I are old cronies,
Alick. All my own doings, the doctors say
would have knocked up the finest constitution
in the world, which I had ten years agowith
a piteous groan.
Well, confess what has done it ?
Smoking, late hours, and, after a pause,
hard drinking.
Whew I It was a very dolorous whistle, I
believe.
What is a fellow to do ? said Hardy, rather
sullenly. Life is so confoundedly slow? You
want excitementyou take to the turf or the
gaming-table. If you win, you must drink and
be jolly; if you lose, why, drink and drown care.
Then other perplexitieswomankind, for in-
stance: you run after an angel, and find her out
something on the other side of humanity; or
shes sharp and clever, makes a mock of you,
and marries your friend; or she tries to jump
down your throat, and you might have her so
cheap she isnt worth the winning.
Is that the fact in your case
My lad, youd find it so, if you had ten thou-
sand a year.
This was a doubtful compliment, certainly;
but he meant it in all simplicity. Besides, I
knew enough of his affairs to be aware that the
circumstances he mentioned in this impersonal
form were literally true.
I wonder, cousin, you are not weary of this
hunting after shadows. Why dont you marry?
Marry! I? to leave a wife a widow next
year! Not but diet would raise my value in the
market immensely. Seriously, Alick, do you
think there is any woman in the world worth
marrying? I dont, and never did.
r was silent. Afterward he said, in an al-
tered tone
I did not quite mean never. Was she
fourteen or fifteen, when she died, Alexander ?
I knew he was thinking of his old child-sweet-
heart, my little sister Mary.
No, no; marrying is out of the question.
Whether I die early or late, I shall certainly die
a bachelor. Shall you ?
Very probably.
And, as I glanced at the two hundred blank
pages, and thetwo hundred more scrawled over,
I hugged myself in the knowledge that, if it came
to starvation, there was only one to starveno
pale wife, fading slowly from a dream of beauty
into a weak slattern, peevish and sad; no cry-
ing children, wailing reproaches into the fathers
heart, not only for their lost birthright, but for
their very birth itself. No, I thought, with
set teeth and clenched palms as if the time of
my youth was as a bitter fruit between my lips, or
a poison-flower in my hands, and I were grind-
ing both to powderNo, as old Will hath it,
Tis better as it is.
Still, cried I, rousing myself, for poor Aus-
tins case was worse than mine, and he had more
responsibilities in the world still life is worth
a struggle, and you know you hate your next
heir. Once more, what are you going to do ?
I dont know.
Have you any doctor?
About a dozen.
Then you are a dead man, ~Austin Hardy.
So I believe.
Again a long pause.
I cant leave you this estate, cousin, you
know, and I have spent most of my ready mon-
ey; but I have left you my cellar and my stud
they will be worth a thousand or two; so you
neednt kill yourself with this sort of work,
pointing to the MS., for a few years to come.
That will be one good out of my dying.
My dear boy, if you say another word aboutHARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
dying, Illyou see Corries Affghan cutlass
thereIll b.ssassinate you on the spot.
Thank you.
By-the-by, and a sudden brilliant thought
darted into my mind, did you ever meet my
friend Corrie?
The finest, wholesomest, cheeriest fellow,
with a head big enough to hold two mens brains,
and a heart as large as his head. I had a letter
from him this morning. He gave up army-
service some time since, began London practice
searched fairly and honorably into all the
nonsense goingtried allopathy, homompathy,
kinesopathy, and heaven knows how many pa-
thies beside; and has finally thrown them all
aside, and, in conjunction with his father, Dr.
Corrie, has settled in shire, and there set
up a water-cure.
A what did you say ?
A hydropathic establishmenta water-cure.
Have you never heard of such places ?
Ah, yes, where people sit in tubs all day,
and starve on sanitary diet, and walk on their
own legs, and go to bed at nine oclockbar-
barians 1
Exactly. They cut civili5ation, with all its
evils, and go back to a state of nature. Sup-
pose you were to try it, you have so long been
living agin nature, as says our friend, the
trapperbut I forgot you dont readthat if
you were to return to her motherly arms, she
might take you in, and cure youeh ?
Couldntimpossible.
So many possibilities frequently grew out of
Hardys impossible, that I was not a whit dis-
couraged.
Here is Corries letter, with a view of his
house on the top of the page.
A pretty place.
Beautiful, he says; and James Corrie has
visited half the fine scenery in the world. You
see, he wants me to go down there, even with-
out trying what he calls the treatment.
And why dont you ?
I laid my hand on the blank MS. leaves
Impossible.
Austin soon after went away. I shut the
Fhltters, stirred the fire, rang for the students
best frienda cup of hot tea, no bread there-
with. Yet, though rather hungry, I dared not
eat; we head-workers are obliged to establish a
rigorous division of labor between the stomach
and the brain. Ugh! that one piece of dry
toast would have spoiled at least four pages
cant be! And that uncut magazine, with a
friends article therein, how tempting it looks!
But no, if I fret myself with his fiction for ten
minutes, I shall lose the thread of my own; and
if I sit thus, staring into the cozy fire, I shall go
dream, and then Now for it. Come on, my
MS., you demon, that I used so to loveyou
friend, you mistress, you beloved child of my
soul! How comes it that you have grown into
a fiend, that stands ever behind me, goading me
onwith points of steel, ready to pierce me when-
ever I drop? But many a human friend, mis-
tress, or child does just the same.
Now, surely I can work to-night. Come back,
dreams of my youth. I am writing about folk
that are young; so lets get up a good love-scene
a new sort of thing, if I canfor I have done
so many, and reviews say I am grown arti-
ficial. Reviews! Ten years ago, what cared
I for reviews! I wrote my soul outwrote the
truth that was in mefresh, bursting truth, that
would be uttered, and would be heard. To
write at all was a glory, a rapturea shouting
out of songs to the very woods and fields, as
children do. I wrote because I loved itbe-
cause I could not help itbecause the stream
that was in me would pour out. Where is that
bright, impetuous, fiashin~, tumbling river now?
Dwindled to a dull sluice, that all my digging
and draining will only coax on for a mile or two
in a set channeland it runs dry.
Well, now for the page. These five lines
rich days workwhat driveling inanity! There
it goes into the flame. Lets start nfl-ash.
Once, twice, thrice, four times, a new page
goes up, in fine curling sparkles, up the chim-
ney. Thank heaven, I have sufficient wit left,
at least, to see that lam a dull fool. Try again.
This time comes nothing! My pen makes
fantastic circles over the white pagelittle birds
nests, ~vith a cluster of eggs insideor draws
foolish, soft profiles, with the wavy hair brushed
up Greek fashion, as I used to serawl over my
bedroom walls when I was a boy. My thoughts
go wool~~atheringwandering up and down
the world, and then come back, and stand mock-
ing and jibing at me.
How is it all to end? I can not write. I
have no more power of brain than the most ar-
rant doltthat especial dolt whom I hear
whistling down the Crescent
Cheer, boys, cheer, the world is all before us.
Oh, that it were! Oh, that I were a back-
woodsman, with a tree and a hatchet, and the
strength of labor in these poor, thin, shaking
hands! Oh, that I had been born a plow-lad,
with neither nerves nor brains!
My head is so hotbursting almost. This
small room tifles me. Oh, for one breeze from
the old known hills! But I should hardly feel
it now. I dont feel any thing much. My
thoughts glide away from me. I only want to
lie down, and go to sleep.
There! I have sat twenty minutes by the
clock, with my head on my hands, doing nothing,
thinking nothing, writing nothingnot a line.
The page is as blank as it was three hours ago.
My days work, twelve golden hourshas been
absolutely nothing.
This can not last. Am I getting ill? I dont
know. I never do get ill. A good wholesome
fever nowa nice, rattling deliriuma blister-
ing and bleeding, out of which one would wake
weak, and fresh, and peaceful as a childwhat
a blessing that might be! But I could not af-
ford itillness is too great a luxury for authors.
Butas I said to poor Austin some hours WATER CURE. 97
sincewhat is to be done? Something must
be done, or my book will never be finished.
And, oh, my enemyoh, my evil genius, that
used to be the stay of my lifewith a sad yearn-
ing I turn over your leaves, and think it would
grieve me after all, if you, the pet babe of my
soul, were never to be born alive.
If any thing could be done! I do not drink,
I do not smoke; I live a virtuous and simple
life. True, I never was very strong; but then
I have no disease; and if I had, is not my soul
independent of my body? Can not I compel
my brain to workcnn not I? for all you used
to argue, my sapient friend, James Corrie, M.D.
And his known handwriting, looking me in the
face, brought back many a sage practical warn-
ing, disregarded when I was in health and vigor,
mentally and physicallywhen it seemed to me
that all authors complainings were mere affec-
tations, vapors, laziness. I know better now.
Forgive me, my hapless brethren, I am as
wretched as any one of ye all.
Can any thing cure me ?any medicine for a
mind diseased? James Corrie, what sayest
thou?
For any disorder of the brainany failure
of the mental powersfor each and all of these
strange forms in which the body will assuredly,
in time, take her revenge upon those who have
given up every thing to intellectual pursuits, and
neglected the common laws of naturethat
mind and body should ~vork together, and not
apartI know nothing so salutary as going back
to a state of nature, and trying the water cure.
I sat pondering till midnight. It was a des-
perate chance, for each day was to me worth so
much gold. Yet what mattered that ?if each
day were to he like this day, I should go insane
by Christmas.
At nine A.M., next morning, I stood by my
cousins bedside, in his chambers at the Albany.
He was fast asleep. His large, white, sculp-
tured profile, with the black hair hanging about,
was almost ghastly. I sat down, and waited till
he awoke.
bIb! Alexander. I thought you were a
water-demon, waiting to assist me into a bot-
tomless bath, out of which I was to emerge at
the South Pole. Well, Im meditating a sim-
ilar plunge.
I likewise.
I am going to try the water cure.
So am I.
Bravo ! cried he, leaping out of bed. I
am delighted to find there will be two fools in-
stead of one. Well start to-morrow.
Imready. * ~ * * * *
Give me the whip, Fyfe. Who ever would
have thought of such a place, so near London!
Thats a very decent hill; and that moorland
wind is just like your own Scotland.
Ay, said I, gulping it downdrinking it
like a river of life.
The free, keen breeze; the dashing across an
unknown countrymade dimly visible by a
bleak, watery November moon; the odd curves
of the road, now shut up by high rocky sides,
now bordered by trees, black and ghostly, though
still keeping the rounded forms of summer foli-
ageabove all, the country wildness, the entire
solitude, when, not two hours ago, we had been
in the heart of London! That drive has left a
vivid impression on my mind. It always seems
like a journey in a dream. It made a clear
division between the former life and that which
was at hand.
I said to myself, in a dreamy sort of way, as,
passing under a woody hillside, the little foot-
boy sprang down and opened the lodge-gate,
and we drove in front of a lighted hall-door,
between two white shadowy wings of building
I said, vaguely, Old things are passed away:
behold, all things are become new.
It is only in the middle of life, or when its
burden has become heavier than we can bear,
that one comprehends the stretching out of the
spirit, as one could imagine it would stretch out
of the husk of the body into a flesh existence.
It is not till then we understand the feeling
which created the fabled Lethe of Elysium
the full deliciousness of oblivionthe intoler-
able craving after something altogether new.
Therefore, except to such, I can never explain
the ecstasy of impression which this place made
upon me, as producing that involuntary cry,
All things are become new.~~
Except its master! That is, its real master;
for Dr. and Mrs. Corrie were in the decline of
life, and nearly all the burden of the establish-
ment fell upon their son, their only child. No,
James Corrie, I would not for the world hav(
any thing new in thee. Change could not ix
prove thee, or novelty make thee more grateiul
to an old friends heart.
If I were to paint him literally as he stood to
welcome us, I fear the effect made would be but
small.
He was not a womans man, my lady readers!
He had no smooth blandness, or charming rough-
nessthe two opposite qualities which make the
fortune of fashionable physicians. You would
hardly take him for a physician at all. His
large, well-built figure; his also large, well-
balanced head, broad-browed, with a keen intel-
lectual eye, but with apleasant humanity smiling
about the well-turned mouthall indicated the
wholesome balance between the mental, moral,
and physical organization, which made James
Corrie, more than any person I have ever
known, give one the impression of a true man.
Not a mere poet, or a visionary, or a philoso-
pher, or a follower of science, made up of learn-
ing and dry bones, or a man of the world, to
whom the world was Alpha and Omega; but
a combination of all these, which resulted in
that rare character which God meant us every
one to be, and which about one-thousandth of
us area xaaa.
Dr. James Corrie was about forty. He had
married early; it was an unhappy and childless
union. He had now been a widower about fi~e
years. I do not know if womankind thought 98 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
him handsome, but it was a very noble and
good face.
I like him, said Austin, decisively, when
he had left us in our apartmentsa sitting-room
dividing two cheerful bedroomsin each of
which the principal feature was a large shallow
bath, standing on end in a corner, like a coffin
with the lid off.
Tea at seven, bed at half-past nine, I heard
Austin maundering drearily to himself, as he
brushed his curly hair, and re-attired his very
handsome person. How the But I sup-
pose one must not swear hereeh, Alick?
Your Dr. James is not in that line.
I laughed; and we went down stairs.
It was a large, old-fashioned house, baronial-
like, with long corridors to pace, and lofty rooms
to breathe freely in. Something of the old
feudal blood in me always takes pleasure in that
sort of house, especinily after London lodgings.
A dazzle of light, coming from a large bright
table, of which the prominent ornaments were
two vases of winter flowers, and a great silver
urn. But abundance of delicate edibles, too;
nothing in the starving line, as Austin indicated
by the faintest wink of the eye to me; and then,
with an air of satisfaction, resumed his cus-
tomary gentlemanly deportment.
We were introduced to Mrs. Corrie, a tall,
spare, elderly lady, who sat, frosty but kindly,
at the head of the table; beside her the old
Doctor; at the foot, our friend, Dr. James.
There was also a Miss Jessie Corrie, a niece,
lively, and bonnie-looking, though not so young
as she might have been. A score of hetero-
geneous patients, of both sexes and all ages, ii~
which the only homogeniety was a general air
of pleasantness and pleasure, completed the
circle. Its chief peculiarity seemed, that, large
as it was, it had all the unrestrainedness and
cosiness of home.
That is exactly what we want to make it
isnt it, father ? said Dr. James, when, the
meal over, the Corrie family, and we two, stood
round the wide, old-fashioned, faggot-heaped
hearth. We want to cure not only the body,
but the mind. To do our patients real good,
we must make them happy, and there is no
happiness like that of home.
True, I said, with a sort of sigh.
And have you not noticed that one half of
the chronic valetudinarians we see are those
who have either no home, or an unhappy one?
To such we try to give, if not the real thing, at
luast a decent imitation of it. They have a far
better chance of cure.
I believe it ; and, turning into the cheery
drawing-room, we gave ourselves upAustin
thoroughly, I partiallyto the pleasure of being
pleased.
Well, said he, when we retired, for a
sick hospital, this is the jolliest place I ever
knew. How do you feel?
I could hardly tell. I was stupid-like, so
great was the change after months of hard work
and solitude; and Corrie and I had been talk-
ing over old times. As I lay dozing, with the
glimmer of the fire on the tall, upright, coffin-
like bath, there seemed to rise within it a mild,
motionless figure, in soft white dead-clothes,
shut eyes, and folded hands, and an inward
voice kept repeating my favorite sayingin its
simplicity one of the truest and most religious
that Shakspeare ever wrote Tis better as it
,, * * * * * *
is.
We began the treatment next day, in a
November morning, to the light of a candle. I
will not enlarge thereon, nor betray the horrors
of the prison-house. Of course, it was a trial.
I could hardly help laughing when I heard afar
off Hardys smothered howl. And when I found
him out of doors, tramping the hoar frost, and
gazing lugubriously over the dim, bleak, misty
hillsfor it was before sunrisehe, who was
usually waked at eleven A.M., to meet a valet,
and silken dressing-gown, coffee, hot rolls, etc.,
etc., I could not hide an uncontrollable fit of
mirth.
He took it good-humoredly; he was a capital
fellow; but he shook his head when I proposed
to climb the hillsidethe lovely hillside, with
its carpet of fallen leaves, which left still foliage
enough to dress the trees, like Jacobs youngest
darling, in a robe of many colors, yellow, brown,
red, dark greenI never beheld more glorious
hues. Sick and weak as I felt, they stirred my
soul to something of its old passion for beauty.
Au revoir! and then I must go up the hill.
It is thirteen years since I saw the country in
November; it is fifteen years since I watched
the sun rise.
So on I trudged. I was free! free! I had
not to walk as I did in weary London, that the
mere motion might stir up some new thoughts
in my sluggish brainsthoughts, not for the
mere pleasure of thinking, but that each might
be woven out for use, aud coined into gold.
My demon, with its two hundred white,
blank faces was fifty miles away.
I did not see the sun rise. Who ever did
when he climbed for it? But I found a sea of
misty moor, sweeping in wave on wave of brown
heatherhow purple it must once have been!
over which the wind blew in my face, as it
used to blow over the hills at home.
I met itI who two days since had cowered
before the slightest draught. My throat choked,
my eyes burned. I walked rapidly on, howling
out at the top of my voice Victor Hugos song
of Le Ton de ToThde.
Gastibeiza, 1homme Li is earabine
Chantait ajusi:
Quelquon a-t-il connu dona Sabine?
Qociquon dici?
Dansez, chantez, villageois, Ia unit gagna
Le mont FalLi:
La vent qut vient Ii travers la montague
Me rendra fou, oni, me rendra fon
Breakfast early; rosy looks; cheerful greet-
ings; everybody seeming to take a kindly inter-
est in one another; the Corrie family taking an
interest in each and all; the wholesome give-
and-take system of lifcs small charities going WATER CURE~ 99
on around, so that, perforce, strangers joined in
the pleasant traffic.
These were my first daylight impressions of
Highwood. Austins seemed the same. He
was busily engaged in doing the agreeable to
the bright-eyed Jessie Corrie, and three other
ladies; his public devotion to the sex being very
polytheistic in its tendencies.
I sat aloof and made professional studies.
Are these all the patients now with you,
Corrie ?
All but one.
Miss Jessie, filling a small tray with comest-
ibles, took a chrysanthemum from the centre
vase, and laid it by the toast.
Ellice likes white chrysanthemums.
Is Ellice your sister, Miss Corrie ?
I have none.
Your cousin, then?
No, half laughing, half blushing; so I con-
cluded it was a mans name, and owned by the
invisible patient in whose floral tastes the lady
took an interest.
After breakfast, the dining-room was left de-
serted; everybody had something to do or suffer;
we nothingstaynothing, did I say?
Enter bath-man.
Gentlemen, will you please to be ready for
me at twelve, and half-past ?
Theres something to stiffer, at least, said
I, as Austin pulled a long face. Then we set-
tled, he into languid, I into restless dreariness.
I shall go and smoke, Fyfe.
And I shall go to my writing.
Ill sit with you; come along.
I had not meant that, being of those owl-like
authors who can best ply their trade alone. But
there was no help for it. Despite my resolutions,
and the rnagnion opus left behind, a miserable
restlessness drove me to commence some small
operetto, so as any how to steal a march upon
my enemy, Time.
I was cutting folios preparatively, and inward-
ly execrating my cousin, who puffed gloomily
at the fire, when in walked James Corrie.
Welcome, doctor; take a cigar ?
Against Highwood rules, my good Sir, said
Corrie, pleasantly.
Indeed; but I never kept to a rule iu my
life. Quite impossible; couldnt give up my
cigar.
So thought I once. Nor my glass of ale.
Nor my brandy-and-water at supper-time.
Yet you did. What cured you ?
Necessity first. I became a struggling man.
I had wants enough. I could not afford an ar-
tificial one. Now cigars only cost me, besides
a hearty dyspepsia, thirty pounds a year; and
thirty pounds a year will keep one man, or two
children from starving. It seemed a pity in this
over-populated country that I should be slowly
killing myself with what would save two other
human beings alive.
Austin dropped his weed, still red, and paused
a little ere he lit another.
And your stron,, drinks ?
Once in my life, Fyfe, I knew what it wa
to want water.
When ? asked Austin, lazily, still irreso-
lutely poising his unlit Havana.
Four years ago, on the Atlantic, in an open
boat, for five days.
H6w many ?
Six men and one woman, all dying of thirst.
I have never touched any thing but water since.
The doctor became silent. Austin looked at
him with a certain interest. The second cigar
still remained in the case.
Come, Mr. Hardy, I am sure, since you have
put yourself under my care, you will allow me
to confiscate these contraband articles. I belong
to the preventive service, you know.
But, Doctor, how ever am I to drag through
the day without ?
Leave that to me and mother Nature, or, as
our friend here would poetically say, the goddess
Undine. By-the-by, Fyfe, what is this I see?
MSS.?
Only an article I want to finish in the inter-
vals of my courting this said goddess of yours.
Cant be, my friend; she will not take a di-
vided heart. In her name I must seize all this.
Best to he off with the ~muld love before you are
on wi the new.
If Hardy will set the example. Come, old
fellow, we have only to fancy ourselves at school
again, with James Corrie instead of Birch for
our Tyrannus. Lets submit.
I know it will be the death of me, groaned
Austin. But he met the doctors cheerful, com-
ical smile, and somehow the cigar-case vanished,
likewise my MS., and I rather think the two
great pockets of Corries shooting-jacket en-
tombed both.
Making no more remarks on the subject, he
continued talking about common topics, the
Eastern war, Highwood, its neighborhood, and
lastly, its inmates.
What odd varieties of humanity must come
under your hands. How ever do you manage
to guide, control, and amalgamate them all ?
By two simple rulesthe law of truth and
the law of kindness. Sick people are not unlike
children. Here we both slightly winced, but
the doctor took no notice. Have we not high
authority for trying to become as little chil-
dren? That, it seems to me, is the principle
of the water cure; that is how I strive to carry
it out.
You certainly succeed. I have rarely be-
held more cheerful and happy faces. It is quite
a treat to look round at meal times. We have
seen all the patients, I think you said ?
Except the one I mentioned.
Who was that ?
Miss Ellice Keir.
I have heard about her, said Austin, lan-
guidly. Something in your line, Fyfe; the
high, heroic dodge. For my part,.I dont fancy
your middle-aged, strong-minded, self-devoted
females.
Miss Keir would be as much surprised as 100 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
any one of her friends to hear herself put under
t.hat category. Indeed, you quite mistake, Mr.
Hardy, said the doctor, quietly.
What is she, then ?
She has been, and still is, a great sufferer.
Something extra-professional and dignified in
Corrie suppressed my cousin. Besides, he was
too kind-hearted to make game of any great
sufferer.
But when our medico was gone, I scrupled
not to question about the high, heroic dodge.
It might come in you know. Any scrap of
an idea is valuable to such addled brains as
mine. I might put her in my next hook.
Do you put people in your books ? said
Austin, with an open mouth of slight alarm.
Never, my good fellow. That is, never iu
toto, never to their injury, and never while I
think they would dislike it. I only make stu-
dies of bits, heads and feet, noses and eyes,
as. a painter would. I wouldnt show up any
body. Its mean. But, for I saw I was talk-
iug miles over Austins head, or at least his ex-
perience, what of Ellice Keir ?
She is an American.
Stop! a Yankee? Then I dont wish to
hear another word.
No, it was useless trying to get up an interest
in any body or any thing. Chronic ill health
of mind, or body, or both, is not cured in a
day.
True, the charm of change lasted for some
eight-and-forty hours or so, and I began greatly
to enjoy the morning bath, the moorland walk
to meet the sun, the cheery breakfast, where
food tasted pleasant, and one wa~s not afraid to
eat, where conversation was pleasant, and one
did not tremble to use ones brains, nor to waste
in mere talk the thoughts which were one s
stock in trade, valuable as bullion gold.
But as the day crept on all this brightness
faded, and life became as dull and pale as it
was every where to me.
And still in solitary walks, amid the soft drop-
pings or wild whirlings of dead leaves, and the
rustle of the dying fern, in the still deep solitude
of parlor circles, merry and loud, I found my-
self moodily and cynically commenting, with the
preacher, Vanity, vanity, all is vanity. And
out of the intolerable weight, the leaden-folded
cloak, which seemed to wrap me round, or else
to hang like a pall between me and all creation,
I used sometimes, at twitter of a bird, or sound
of moorland wind, or hand-breadth of rosy, win-
ter sunset lighting up the dull sky, I used to
stretch out my hands, longing to sob out like a
child, yet able only to sigh, Oh, for the dreams
of my youth
For Austin, he succeeded better. His soul
did not trouble him much, or the dreams of his
youth either. His fine animal nature responded
to this uncorrupt animal existence. He grew
rapidly better, and lived apparently a very jolly
life, though at intervals still complaining of its
being so slow.
I sat by the dining-room fire alone, for it was
the forenoon. Let me draw the picture of that
day.
A gloomy day. True November. Damp
and raw. The terrace and the lawn strewed
with dead leaves. More kept falling, fluttering
down one by one, like shot birds. The only
bit of warm color the eye could seize on was a
tall cedar, between whose branches shone a
beech-tree beyond, making alternate lines of
dark-red and dark-green. Every day at break-
fast I used to look at it, often thinking, childish
fashion, that I should like to be a beech, with
its ever-moving leaves, so vocal in their prime,
so rich in hue, to the very minute that they
fall.
Maundering thus, I went mooning up and
down the lone room, my hands in my pockets,
thinking how long it was since I had been a
childwondering whether in the next form of
existence I should be a child again.
Hark! a harmonium! I did not know there
was one in the house. In the next room, prob-
ably. Somebody playing it well, too.
Now, I do not care for music in generalnot
the music one gets in society. It is too flimsy
for me. The love-songs sicken me; the sad,
plaintive songs, badly sung, are atrocious; well
sung, they tear ones heart; and at thirty, one
begins to find that a very unnecessary piece of
laceration
What is Life, that we should moan
Why make such ado ?
In Heavens name, troll a merry stave and
have done with it. As for piano-forte playing,
I had rather hear my. aunts kitten run ovei the
keysat least, almost always.
But I like an organ; and, second best, a
harmonium. I liked this one. Corrie found
me pacing up and down, or listening, rapt in a
state bordering on sublimest satisfaction.
What a lovely tonecalm, liquid, grand,
dreamy, toolike t~e dreams of ones youth,
with all the passions and pain burnt out of
them. How exquisitely smooth and delicate
the touch; and it isnt easy, for I have tried
listen.
Yesshe plays very well.
Who is it?
Miss Keir.
Miss Keir! to make me almost cryyes I
have! Even Handel! She with her Yankeo
fingers and Yankee soul
My good friend, you mistake; even if Yan-
kee were the terrible adjective you make it,
which I beg respectfully to deny, having a great
respect for brother Jonathan. But Miss Keir is
a Canadian. She was born at Montreal. Come,
I will introduce you.
We entereda lady rose from the instrn-
meat; a very little lady, almost elfishly small;
hands and feet so tiny, you would have crushed
them with a touch. Dressed in black, of some
soft material that did not rustle, but caused her
to move softly and wind-like, without a sound.
Not unlike that woman (oh, Charlotte Bronte,
none of us will make such another in this gen WATER CURE. 101
eration!) Jane Eyre; except that there was
nothing in the least impisk or espiegle ahout
her. She was neither young nor handsome
in the least; butand that but contradicts
both assertionsshe had very dark Canadian
eyes.
I say Canadian, because I have only seen
them in Canadians hy birth or descent. They
are neither eastern nor southern, neither fiery
nor voluptuous; but large, soft, calm, swimming
and trembling in a tender passionateness, or
breaking at times into a flash of the wild Indian
bloodworth all your pale, placid, strong En-
glish eyes!
Mr. FvfeMiss Keir. He is a very old
friend of mine.
Miss Keir offered her handScottish fashion
her little pale hand, soft as a hit of snow, only
it was so warm.
Now, that is another of my crotchetsthe
feel of a hand. Some, it is martyrdom to inc
to touch. I hate your fishy, your skinny, your
dumpling, your flabby handsa hand that is
afraida hand that clutches. I like a woman
who comes and lays her soft, pure palm in
mine, knowing I am a man and a gentleman,
that I prize the little passing angel, and will en-
tertain it honorably and well.
This was hqw Miss Keir shook hands with
me. She said something; but it was in a
whisper.
I ought to have told you, Fyfe, she has long
lost her speaking voice; but we can hear her
sufficiently. So will you.
Oh, yes.
And her manner and looks were so expres-
sive, so spirit lie; nay, rather let me use the
English word spiritual; for that more truly in-
dicates the way in which her soul seemed to be
shining through and glorifying her little frail
bodythat she needed language less than most
women.
We had all three a very long conversation.
We dashed at once in medics restried our
several hands at solving some of the great
world-questions of our daysome of the great-
est problems of the universe. We grew earn-
est, excited, crazythat is, I didthen calm.
She calmed me. What she said, I know not.
I can not tell if she explained any thing, be-
cause the most terrible of our spiritual, like our
physical mysteries, are utterly incapable of ex-
planation; but she calmed me downlike as a
man in great mental anguish is quieted by be-
ing suddenly brought out into the open day-
light, the summer air.
I have a perfect faith in instinctive attraction
and repulsion. I believe there are peopleI
am onewho know at first meeting whom they
will love and whom they will hatewho will do
them harm, and who good. I believe this sen-
sation is placed in them for warning and guid-
ance. I myself have never run counter to it
except to my after peril.
It was blindly obeying this attraction, when,
on leaving, I requested permission sometimes
to join the CorriesMiss Jessie and the old
lady had entered nowin Miss Keirs apart-
ment.
She looked at the Doctor; he answered,
smiling You are so much better now, that
both my father and I may allow you a little so-
cietyespecially that of so celebrated a literary
character as my friend Mr. Fyfe.
Literature! faugh! I had forgotten the very
word.
Why did you tell her I was an author ? I
said, as we turned out of doors; Corrie remorse-
lessly exacting the walk before the noon-day
bath. Why could you not let me stand for
once upon my own footing; let her judge me
not by what I do, but what I am? Yetand
a bitter conviction of what a contemptible speci-
men of manhood I had sunk to, forced itself
upon my mind yet, a hard judgment that
might have been.
Not from her. But why should I have kept
incog. your best selfyour books? she has read
them all.
I-las she? I am sorry. Noglad. For
after all, with all my shams, she will find the
real Alexander Fyfe by snatches there. But
enough of myself. I want to talk about her.
You seem greatly pleased with her. Yet
few take to her at once, she is so very quiet.
But her quietness gives one a sense of rest,
and her soft way of moving throws a harmony
over the room. She is not unlike the instru-
ment she plays. You can not fancy her attuned~
to the drawing-room ditties and ball-room jigs
of lifeyou can ~ot conceive of her either beau-
tiful or young.
Thc Doctor silently smiled.
But there is in her that which transcends
both youth and beautya cheerful sacredness
a wholesome calm. She seems to do me
good. I should like to know more of her.
That is very easy, if her health keeps im-
proving.
Has she been long an invalid ?
Four years.
I-low did you meet her ?
Literally, at the gates of death. In the
boat I told you of after our ship went downs
Was she that one woman
She was. She had a brother and sister
with her, bringing them to Europe. I got them
into the boat safe. For six days she was the
strength of us all. Then the little sister died
on her lap. The brother survived.
James Corrie cleared his throat; we walked
on a few yards
Such a little quiet creaturewho would
have believed it of her ?
Nobody does, and nobody need; and she
has been quite as heroicif you will use the
wordin her illness since, as at the time qf the
shipwreck.
How is she affected ?
With almost constant neuralgic and rheu-
matic pains, together with the total loss of
voice. Her brother says it was very beautiful 102 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
once; she was to have been a teacher of sing- the light makes me feel it moresince morn-
ing.
And the brother ?
He is walking the hospitals in Edinburgh.
She struggled on with-him for six months, till
she fell illfortunately in my mothers house.
She has never quite recovered.
Do you think she ever will recover
Certainly. That isif it be the will of
God. Now, Fyfe, your hour is cometo the
drippiug-sheetaway
I left him; and he walked rapidly up the
hill.
Smallplainand not young! Very at-
tractive description, truly. Why, the patients
here seem all middle-agedlive any how.
What with baths and walks to cut up the
day, and your friend Corrie to look after one,
what with his awfully honest, righteous eyes,
one cant get the least bit of harmless amuse-
ment.
Except with Miss Jessie. You flirt enough
with her.
Put that verb in the passive voicedo, my
good fellow. I merely respond. What a wild
devil it isjust like pepper and mustard
French mustard. Its the only bit of spice left
in your terribly wholesome hydropathic diet.
I might amuse myself really with it, if it were
only young.
Le hesoin de s amuser, seems the only pos-
sible element in your affairs of this sort.
Exactly so.
And he sauntered back into the drawing-
room, where, our aquatic duties all done, there
was usually a most merry circle till bed time,
into which circle my friend Hardy had dropped
like a god-send, and even by his third night
made himself acceptable to every body there,
and especially to Miss Jessie Corrie.
Yet I had no qualms on her account; if, in-
deed, I could have felt enough interest in life
to suffer qualms about any thing. The lady was
like Isopel, in Borrows Lavengro (you
see, unlike many authors, I do read other books
besides my own) large and fierce, and able
to take her own part. I did not think she had
a heart; any how, it did not matter its being
brokenmost peoples are; else where would
all the poems and novels come from?
As you will, my good friends, thought I,
watching them lounging, flirting, and laughing.
Its a case of diamond cut diamond. Skim
away over lifes shallows in your painted jolly-
boats. Youll swamp no onenot even each
other; or, if you did, its no business of mine.
But just at that minute I pausedI caught a
tone of the harmonium down stairs.
Now, thinks I to myself, I wonder what
those eyes down below would say if they were
looking on instead of mine. Would they have
my cynicismmy contemptuous laissez-dller?
But Physician heal thyself. How can I be
bothered to pull the mote out of anothers eye,
when I am still blinded by the beam in my
own. Blinder than everor else coming into
lug.
Our fourth day at Highwoodand Sunday;
Austin escorted a carriage-full of ladies to
church he thought it more respectable.
For me
Oh, thou one Father of the universeone in-
finite and unapproachable Wisdomone all-sat-
isfying and all-perfect Lovewhen wilt Thou
visit me? when wilt Thou enlighten me? when
wilt Thou comfort me? I stand under the pine-
wood on the bill-top, where the air is so rare, and
the wind so wildit seems nearer to Thee. I
long to die and learn Thy mysteriesto die and
be filled with Thy love. My soul cries out unto
Thee with an exceeding great and bitter cry
which is often the only evidence it has of its
own existence. I do not believe in myself at
allmy worthless, aimless, broken-spirited, mis-
erable self; hut I believe in Thee.
The fool has said in his heart, There is no
God. But only the fool; or, perhaps, he who
pays a guinea toll to heaven on a silver charity-
plate, or keeps a bishop to pray for him. 1 pre-
fer the hill-top, and Parson Breeze.
But coming down the hill, I met Corrie, and
~vent in with him to speak to Miss Keir. He
told her what I had been saying.
She pointed to a line she had been setting as
a copy for the lodge-keepers lame daught r,
whom she usually L ught to write of a Sun-
day:
In every place, he that loveth God, and
worketh righteousness, is accepted of Him.
That was the best sermon after all. That
was what the preacher on the mount would
have said to us, Ellice Keir!
Water cure! I think, Doctor, your system
is directed not only to the body, but the souL
Mine feels cleaner than of yore.
Does it.
We were pacing the terrace walkMiss Keir
and Miss Jessie watching us from the window.
It had become a matter of custom that I should
always spend a morning hour or two in her
room. They were the best hours of the day.
What a calm, clear mindpurified by suf-
fering, full of inward faith. How she looks
through all shams right down into truthGods
truth. Likeif it were not as hackneyed as
Piccadilly in Maylike a steady-eyed astrono-
mer looking down into a well. We see only
the glaring noon looking without, or the black
incrusted sides: she sees the stars at the hot-
tom. She knows where to look for them, be-
cause she believes they are th e.
You are quite poetical.
I feel so at timeshere. I think I could
write my book, if you would let me.
The Doctor shook his head.
And sometimes I could almost fancy that
Alexander Fyfes boy-heart was only buried,
with Sir Williams, under that sun-dial, and
that a trifle of digging would bring it to the sur-
face againslightly decayed, perhaps, but a hu-
man henrt still. WATER CURE. 103
Are you thinking of marrying ? said the
Doctor, very gravely.
No; nor of loving, in that sense. It isnt
in me. But simply of resuscitating from fast
corruption that aforesaid portion of human an-
atomy, which we authors trade in so much that
we leave no material for home use.
Do speak plainly; I am but a plain man.
For the which thank Heaven! Merely,
Corrie, that we authors are liable, above most
people, to the danger that, while preaching to
others, ourselves should become castaways. We
teach ourselves that to paint high virtue is to
exemplify it. We like to act leader and chorus,
instead of principalsto talk rather than to
work. In brief, we write when ~ve ought to
live.
Possibly. But what are you driving at ?
This. Here have I been crying up the ideal
these thirteen years; scribbled folios on moral
power, heroism, self-denial, and that sort of
thing.
You have, indeed; your writings are beau-
tifuL
My writings! And what am I? A self-
engrossed, sickly, miserable, hypochondriacal
fooL
My dear fellow I
It is true! And that woman, Ellice Keir,
who never wrote a line in all her days, she lives
a poem. Such a one as in all nuy days I will
never be able to write.
I will tell her what you say, answered the
Doctor, smiling. Come along.
He did so, almost word for word. She look-
ed in his face, and blushed up to the eyesa
vivid, tremulous, happy blush.
Mr. Fyfe is quite mistaken, you know.
I know he is mistaken in one thing: that
we need only judge ourselves, as we trust we
shall be judged, according to our gifts. It is
folly for a rose-bush to despise itself because it
is not an oak.
Yes, she said, with her kind eyes lighting
on me; it should rather abide in peace, and
grow to the utmost perfection its own roses.
They are very dear and sweet.
She held out her hand. It was better to me
than a laurel crown. * * * * * *
Henceforward I began truly to live: the first
time I had lived for years. Up ere daylight,
instead of that stupor of body and soul which
used to last till near mid-day. The baths
out of which one comes pure as a child and
strong as a Hercules. The walksclasping
nature like a mistress; nature, always lovely
and beloved to me, even when she pelted me
with rain-storms, frowned at me through lead-
en skies, soaked me with her soft, perpetual
tears.
I will not say what it was to be, every day,
and many hours in the day, under the heaven-
ly darkness of lightif I may coin the paradox
of the eyes of Ellice Keir.
She never grew, in mine, any younger or any
handsomer; in truth, I hardly thought of her
physical self at all. It was a pure, abstract re-
cognition of my ideal of moral beautymore
perfect than in any woman I have ever known.
Pardon, pardon; a dream of my youth!
Thine eyes are closedclosed! * * * * * *
Well, if you ask me for my opinion (I
dont think one man has a right to give it to
anotherhardly even one friend to another
friend, without)I certainly feel you are not
acting like that most sensible, upright, gentle-
manly youth I knew ten years agoAustin
Hardy.
Pshaw! dont bring up ten years ago. Our
virtues ~vear out like our clothes; we cant go
shabby. Best get another suit.
But let it be, at least, as decent as the
former.
If it can, i. e., if theres any cash to get it
with. But lets talk plain English. What have
you to say? Do you think I shall get into a
scrape ?
Not a bit of it. Miss Jessie is a wise one,
and a sharp one, too. She isnt the least likely
to break her heart for you. She only coquettes
a little.
Mighty little. Your friend the Doctor keeps
such a steady look-out, one would think he
wanted her for himself. The old people; I
suppose its their duty to watch black sheep for
the credit of the establishment. Never was
there a fellow who had so few opportunities of
love-making, even if he chose. But he doesnt
choose. He only wants to amuse himself.
That ishe finds himself in a world where
people live, work, struggle; and all he can do
is to amuse himself! Tired of all his other
shams, he puts on the largest sham of allthe
highest, strongest feeling a human being can
havejust to amuse himself.
Youre civil, Alexander.
Im honest.
Dont fly in a passion; you know I always
listen to you. Why did you not give me this
sermon a week ago ?
Why, indeed!
Theres something changed about you, my
boy. You dont talk such rigmarole as you
used to do, nor in such a savage tone. Also,
you look quieternot so nervous. You will
grow into a show case, as our friend Corrie
would say. It is really the water cure.
Probably. But never mind me. Im talk-
ing about you, and Miss Jessie likewise. Mark
me, Austin, that young woman
Hold there. Middle-agedtwenty-seven,
at least; else I might have thoughts seriously
of herfor a quarter of an hour. She is a good
figure, large and lady-likevery decent requi-
sites for Mrs. Hardy. More I cant expect.
Well, what about that young woman ?
Merely, that she never had any heart at all;
or, if she had, she has worn it on her sleeve, till
the daws have pecked it away.
Just like mine.
I wonder youll even condescend to play at
follystill worse, at mock sentiment with her. 104 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
She who is all false, from top to toe, without
and within.
Heigho! So am I.
Youre not, Austin Hardy. You think it
fine to sham vice; youre too lazy to struggle
through to virtue; but youre an honest fellow
at heart.
Hold your tongue, Alick, in a gruff voice.
Here comes the lovely young Jessie. Wel-
come! She is just in time to spread her petals
to the sunrise, my fair Flower of Dumblane.
Forand let me premise that this is a most
original scene for a tryste, and quite peculiar to
a hydropathic establishmentI ought to have
said that we were taking our morning walk, all
things being yet dusky in the cloudy winter
dawn. Though in the east, and up even to the
zenith, the sky was catching a faint rosy tinge;
and between the two pine-woods one vivid sul-
phur-colored cloud showed that somewhere, far
below the visihle horizon, the sun was beginning
to shine.
I maintain, from personal experience at High-
wood, that sunrise in general is what a school-
boy would call a great humbug a dead
take-in. Sunset is twice as fine. But still it
has a peculiarity of its own, especially on a win-
ter morning. The worthy old sun seems to
climb np so doggedly pertinacious, so patiently
strong, though shorn of his beamsstruggling
through that mist and damp to smile upon a
poor earth, who is so weary, ragged, and ~van,
she hardly dares to see him. But steadily he
riseslike a high, honest purpose dawning in
the hopeless winter of a mans days, when time
is short and weather bleak; yet steadily it rises,
and comes at last to day-breakdny-lightay,
unto perfect noon-day.
I began to think sometimes on this wiseas
if even though it was but yesterday that I had
sat and watched my sun go downsteadily,
stoically, with open eyes that never bleached or
moistened; yet every morning at this hour, it
seemed as if he might rise to-morrow.
And Austin? * * * * * *
Bless my life! I havent the least wish in
all the world. Is that your wonderful Miss
Keir? What a very plain woman I
It was her first appearance in the evening
circle, and I had offered Hardy to introduce
him. Of course, receiving this reply, I imme-
diately turned, and left him to his own devices.
A plain woman, was she? Perhaps. I
could not tell; I bad scarcely thought ahout it.
If I did now, it was only vaguelythinking of
an observation once made on a friend of mine.
Its object told it me herselg with a simple,
grateful pleasure, even to tears: One never
knows whether she is pretty or not; one only
feels one loves her.
And I loved Ellice Keir, in that sort of harm-
less way, with a tender friendship which, when
both are well advanced in life, so as to make it
safe and free, it does a man good to bestow,
and is sweet for a woman to receive. So I rea-
soned. Oh! fool, fool, fool!
She sat in the fireside arm-chair, ~e same
little black-stoled figure, the sound of whose
voice was never heard, yet whose mute smile
created around her a circle of brightness, like
the moderateur lamp, as Corrie said in his
quaint way. All looked to her and were
lightened. She appeared to draw from the
various calyx of every human heart some per-
fumeusually the best perfume it had.
Gradually nearly all the party gathered around
her; and a few stragglers only were left apart,
including Hardy and Miss Corrie. At last I
heard him behind me.
How glad every body seems to have Miss
Keir hack here again I
That is not wonderful.
There is a general seceding to her. I sup-
pose I must een follow the herd. Come, you
may introduce me, if you like.
By no means. How could you be ex-
pected to do the civil to such a very plain
woman?
Pon my life, and so she is. But theres
something odd about her. Those eyesI felt
them at the farthest corner of the room. They
seem to be finding one out. Confesshave
you been telling her any of my misdeeds ?
Austin Hardy 1
Well, it would not be like you. Now for
it; lead the victim to the horns of the altar.
Im prepared.
But Miss Keir was already retiring. A mere
introduction passed~-no more.
Alt ! said Austin, drawing a deep breath,
and giving me a slight wink, as Miss Jessie
came on in full sail up to the chair where he
was lounging, No matter; I shall go back to
my old ways. Its easier, now that woman is
out of the room.
Hardy held out for one eveningtwothe
beginning of the third; said she was clever,
and he hated clever women; quiet, and he liked
to he amused. Afterward, I saw hint listening,
with polite, abstracted smile, to the large dose
of amusement Miss Jessie always furnished;
hut his eyes were riveted on the fireside circle,
now a brighter circle than ever, since Miss Keir
was its centre. No, not its centre; for her at-
traction in society was more of the passive kind.
She did not shine herself, but she created a
fresh, clear atmosphere, in which every one else
shone brighter than before. Finally, Hardy
was discovered leaning behind the velvet arm-
chair, attentive to the discussion. It was some-
thing about Northumberland mines, and the
improvement of the miners.
Miss Keir is speaking to you, Mr. Hardy.
It was really droll to see him bend forward with
that eager, pleased face, to such a very plain
woman.
Yes, my property does lie among the mining
country, but I never troubled my head much
ahout it. I have had no time.
She apparently repeated his latter words with
a gentle smile.
That is, I fear I have never had ener~ WATER CURE. 105
enough to make time. I am a very lazy fellow,
as Fyfe would tell you.
She smiled again, and said something more.
He brightened np.
Ay, my cousin always has a good word for
me; but, indeed, I am not fit for any thing
of the sort. I couldnt take the trouble. My
property, even such as it is, is the greatest bur-
den of my life.
Here Jessie Corrie tittered out some very
commonplace remark, to which he replied with
one of his usual fulsome speeches to women;
but still kept talking to Miss Keir
Duties of property! Dreadful word, duty I
Quite out of my line. Besides, its too late now.
With my ill-health
Here he seemed conscious of an amused look
resting on his brawny figure and ruddy face
Well, I fear you and the Doctor must find
out a better man for the carrying out of your
philanthropic plans. I have been too long given
up to the dolce far niente.
Yet he lingered and listened, gradually with
some real interest gleaming through his elegant
languor; now and then joining in the conversa-
tion with a word or two of the capital good sense
he could furnish at will, though he was not cursed
to any heavy degree with that commodity called
brains. Parting, Miss Keir shook hands with
him, with a friendly word or two.
By Jove, Fyfe, that isnt a bad sort of wo-
man, just for a change. Im rather sick of beau-
ties. One is obliged to think before one speaks
to her, just as if she were a man.
I smiled.
Her sex is indebted to you.
Pshaw! she is not a bit like a woman.
Altogether like a woman, I think.
Well, have your own way.
He stood meditating, a rare fact for Austin
Hardy.
There was some sense in those schemes of
hers. When I was twenty-one I used to have
grand notions about improving my estates, and
living king of the country-side, after the good
old fashion. But all vanished in smoke. Its
too late now.
No good thing is ever too late. Did you
not hear her saying so? She thinks you might
carry out ever so many of the Doctors sanitary
and educational schemes. She told me she
wished you would.
Did she? But I have not the power, and
it isnt worth while. Let the world jog on as it
likes, it will last my time. However, perhaps
I may just hear what she says on the subject to-
morrow.
I smiled to myself, and was satisfied.
By-the-by, Alick, I altogether forgot to bid
good-night to Jessie Corrie.
Substitution, that is the true theory of amend-
ment. Knock a rotten substance out by driving
a sound wedge in.
So thought I, when two days after I saw Aus-
tin making himself busyat least as busy as a
man can well be who is going through the water-
treatmentin this new interest, which perhaps
was the only real interest he was capable of. It
roused his best selfthat for which nature in-
tended him the active, upright, benevolent
country gentleman.
He took to plans, drawings, blue-books, works
on political economy, and spent half the morn-
ing in that little parlor I so loved, with Dr. James
Corrie and Miss Keir.
The former said to me, watching him
Heres a change in our friend Mr. Hardy.
I fancy he, too, is participating in the spiritual
water cure.
It appears so.
Nor did I grudge him that healing. * * * *
It was a November dayNovember, yet so
mild, so sunshiny, so heavenly calm, that but for
the thinned trees, the brown heather, the with-
ered fern, you would have thought it spring.
Her ponys feet were up to the fetlock in dead
beech leaves, making a soft rustle as we climbed
the hill. Wethat is, Miss Corrie, Hardy, Dr.
James, and I. The old Dr. Corrie and his wife
were a good way behind. They, too, h admadea
point ofjoining the triumphant procession which
celebrated Miss Keirs return to the outer world;
for every body loved herevery body!
She seemed to know and feel itto sun her-
self in it almost as a child does. For, though
thirty years old, there was still in her a great
deal of the child. Trouble had passed over her,
ripening, not blasting, and left her in the St.
Martins summer of her days, a season almost
as beautiful as spring. In that golden bright-
ness, one of us at least lived, morning, noon, and
eve, and half believed it was the return of May.
This day seems made on purpose for you,
Miss Keir, said Austin, as he straggled up the
bill, assisting Miss Jessie kindly and courteously
(perhaps more kindly and courteously than ever
since his manner had gradually sunk to that and
nothing more). The lady looked cross, an~l
complained of damp leaves. In her was nothing
of the St. Martins summer, but an affectation
of girlishness, a frantic clinging to a lost youth,
which is at once the saddest and most hateful
thing I know.
Eight hours since, when hardy and I took
our morning walk, this moor was all white with
hoar-frost. Are you quite sure you are not cold,
Miss Keir?
Let me run and get her my fur cape, Alick.
Will you help Miss Corrie for a minute or two?
Mr. Hardy is certainly better; he has learnt
to run like any school-boy, said the Doctor, with
an amused satisfaction.
And to fetch and carry like any spaniel,
observed Miss Jessie Corrie, whose regard cool-
ing down, gave out a satirical spark or two oc-
casionally. Marvelous change! A month
ago, he thought of nobody ia the world but his
dearly-beloved self.
He was ill then.
Laughing at my sharpness, she bent forward
to a whisper of Miss Keirs, which she repeated
aloud with variations afterward. 106 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Mr. Hardy, Ellice is much obliged. She
says you run like a school-boy, and carry like a
spaniel, and have learned at last to think of other
folk in the house besides your beloved self.
Did she say so?
That hurt look on Austins blase visage was
something newnew as the odd shyness with
which he gave the fur to me to wrap her inhe,
the erewbile officious squire of dames!
Ellice turned on him her bright, true, heart-
satisfying smile.
Tell himher breath as she whispered me
felt like the May-breezes of my youth tell
him, I said, he thinks of every body in the house
except himself.
Austin showed that he could not only run,
but blush like any school-boy; so pleasant seemed
her praise.
On we went through the moorland, down in
the ferny dell where those three cedars stood,
huge and dark, with the faint sunbeams on their
tops, and damp earthiness at their feet.
This will not do, said Dr. James. Very
unsanitary spot. Theres a wholesome breeze
and a grand view half way up Torbury Hill.
So we ascended, knee-deep in heather, in
which poor Miss Jessie was stranded. Austin
took her safely to the old people, and came tear-
ing back, his hair flying all abroad, and his
daintyvestments catching on furze-bushes. How
his London friends would have stared! I told
him so.
Never mind. You are growing just as much
of ahoy yourself, old fellow. I think, Miss Keir,
it must he something in the air of Highwood
that makes, one young.
He might have said, only he never made one
of his pretty speeches to her, that she herself fur-
nished no exception to the rule. For, in truth,
her cheek had a girlish rosiness and tint, like
the inside leaves of those delicate, peach-colored
chrysanthemums she was so fond of. I think
oh, contemptibly-sentimental thought !I would
like to have my grave planted with chrysanthe-
mums. They come so cheerful and fair in the
wintertime, and they always remind me of High-
wood and of Ellice Keir. She once said, they
looked like a handful of happiness when one is
growing old.
But we all eschewed age to-dayny, even the
Doctor, whose general gravity was such, that
most of the patients looked upon him as more
antiquated and reverend than his fatherhe
threw off his antiquity now. He strode through
the heather, led the pony, pointed out the sun-
set. He had always the keenest sense of natu-
ralbeauty; his large gray eye softened and bright-
ened as he turned to Ellice Keir.
How strange, how sad it must he to have to
seek out God in nature! To ns, all nature is
but an emanation from God.
I listened. He and she togetherChristian
man and Christian womanhad said some sweet,
Christ-like ~vords before me now; and then, bet-
ter still, had lived before me. It seemed strange
now that I had ever cried out, in that temporary
insanity of unbelief with which this history be-
gins. I stood clothed and in my right mind.
It will be imagined the sort of feeling with which
I often looked, as now, from one face to the
otherwhatcalm, noble, blessed faces theywere!
of those two, especially hers.
Austin did the same. He had a great kind-
ness for the Doctor; and as for Miss Keir
Do you know, he said, stepping closer to
her saddle, this place is curiously like Nether-
lands. The country-side is all barren moor, just
as this, dotted with tumble-down huts, where
those brutes of riotous miners live. Ah! you
smile. It shall not be so another year. Indeed,
it shall not, Miss Keir. Ill see what I can do.
Bravo! what you can do! That will be
no little, Mr. hardy.
Thank you, Doctor. And there, behind
just such a fir-wood as that, the house stands.
Poor old Netherlands, I have not been there
these ten years. It is getting sadly dilapidated,
my steward tells mebut then its his interest
to tell me liesthey all do. What were you
saying ?
He bent forward to hear her.
I never thought of that, he answered, dep-
recatingly. Bless me, it never struck me my
laziness was harming any body but myself; but
for the future I promise, and Fyfe knows I never
break my promise. Doctor, you may well cry
Bravo! Theres a good star rising over poor
old Netherlands. You must come and see me
there.
Then, in a lower tone
Will you come too, Miss Keir ?
She hesitated, colored slightly, or I fancied so;
finally, gave a smiling assent. Austin thanked
her, and stood looking toward the fir-wood, that
lay in a black bank under the sunset.
Poor old Netherlandsdear old Nether-
lands ! he murmured more than once, in the
soft tone he had used years ago, when talking
to my little sister Mary.
I, also, was young then. Heavens! what it
is to he young!
Oh, my youthmy youth ! cried out my
heart, and seemed to catch at its last streaming,
even as each wave of moor, each stump of tree
caught at the sun as he was going down with a
wild clutch, as knowing that this glimmer was,
indeed, the lastthat afterward there would be
nothing hut gloom. But he went down, and it
was light still.
This is the strangest winter evening. It
will not grow dark. Did you ever see such a
dainty, bright new moon? We must go home,
for all that, said the Doctor.
Not yetjust one minute longer, Miss
Keir.
I put my arm on her ponys neck. I could
see behind me a fold or two of her gownjust
enough to feel she was there. I fancied I heard
her sigh. No wonderevery thing was so still
and beautiful.
For me, my sigh was almost a sob. My soul
was come into me again. I was no longerWATER CURE.
wretched clod, passionless, brainless. I could
feel, enjoy, create; I was again an author, a
poetgreater yetI was a man.
Oh, thank God, this is like my youth! And
I am youngI am only thirty-two. I might
live my life out yet.
Live it ! said the brave, soft voice of James
Corrie.
Live it ! said the silent smile of Ellice Keir.
I will!
Though the vow was then taken somewhat in
blindness of what was, and was to come, still,
God be witness, I shall never break it either to
Him orthese. * * * * 5
Ive done it, AlickI thought I could.
And Hardy, after three days absenceI con-
cluded in Londonburst into our sitting-room,
a huge peripatetic snow-drift.
Done what?
I forgotyou dont know yet. But Ill
tell you in a minute, when Im not so out of
breath.
Did you come in by the six oclock train
to-night ?~
Surely.
Nobody expected you. You must have had
to walk across the country.
Of course I did.
Tell it not at the Albany, lest Highwood
should be inundated with a flood of bachelors
seeking the water cure, that I should have lived
to see Austin Hardy, Esquire, taking a four-
mile night-walk through a heavy Christmas
snow
Pshaw, dont make game of a fellow; its
only what a man ought to do, if hes any thing
like a man.
He certainly looked every inch a man.
His languid affectations, his fashionable drawl,
were gone. Even his dressthat Stultzian toi-
let once rivaling the count himselfwas now
paid no more attention to than any decent gen-
tleman is justified in paying. His hair frizzled,
guiltless of Macassar, for his oils and his per-
fumes the water cure seemed to have washed
them all away. Altogether he was a very fine
fellow, indeedin the physical line. My own
small corporeality shrunk into insignificance
beside him.
But I had been sitting for two hours looking
direct into those eyes, which looked as steadily
into mine, in bright and friendly communion
those eyes which always sent a deep peace, a
quiet rest down to the very bottom of my soul.
No; I did not envy Austin Hardy.
Now, my good fellow, when you have shak-
en off your snow, sit down and inform me of
this mighty deed.
Oh, its nothinga mere nothing, with
that air of rositive shyness, which was in him
so new and so comical. First, is all well at
Highwood ?
Certainly. You surely did not expect any
great internal convulsions to happen in three
days?
No; but when one is away, you know, one
107
fancies. How deliciously quiet this place seems,
after knocking about some hundreds of miles.
Some hundreds of miles! Why, where
have you been?
To Edinburgh.
To Edinburgh! You who grumble at a
fifty-miles journey. In this snow, too. What
important business dragged you there ?
Oh, none. Only I thought I onght. (The
amusing novelty of Austin Hardy doing an un-
pleasant thing because he ought.) I went to
see young Harry Keir.
I was very much astonished.
You see, he added, poking the fire hard,
I couldnt bear her sad looks when the young
fellow and his doubtful prospects were men-
tioned. lie is a real fine fellowonly wants
getting a start in life, and hed get on like a
house on fire. Now, last week a thought
struck me
Will you kindly leave off striking showers
of fir-wood sparks into my face ?
I didnt like telling her beforehand, lest, if
it failed, she should be disappointed. She loves
that ladthough, by-the-by, he isnt exactly a
lad; he took his doctors degree this year, and
is mighty clever, tooheigho! She is very
fond of him, and he of her, and, by Jove, and
so he ought to be.
But you have not yet told methat is, if
you were going to tell me
Certainly, though theres little to tell
merely, that I went to Edinburgh, found out
the young man; then hunted up uhy friend Lord
C, who is starting to Italy with his sick
son. A tolerable hunt, toofollowed him first
to Yorkshire, and then to- Bath. But its all
settled now. Keir is appointed traveling phy-
sician at 300 a-year. Not a bad notionoh,
Alick? The young fellow is so gladit quite
does one good to think of him. -
Does she know?
Of course not.
How happy she will be.
And it was he who had the power to give her
this happiness! For the first time in my life I
envied Austin Hardy.
When shall you tell her ?
I dont knowIwish you would, Fyfe.
You would do it so much better than I.
Nono. * * 5 * * 5
I was present when she was toldtold in an
awkward, unintelligible, and even agitated fash-
ion, which no one would have expected from
that finished gentleman, Mr. Austin Hardy.
She looked from one to the other of us vague-
ly. I dont understand.
Hardy repeated the informationjust the
hare fact of her brothers appointment, which
young Keir himself would confirm to-morrow.
She believed at last, asking pardon for her
doubt. But, with that rare tear which showed
how many could have, or had once flowed down
her dear face, Harry and I are not used to
being so happy.
No more than this. Nothing in her of thelOS HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
tragic commodity~nothing that professional came of fate, which means of Godwas upon
passion-mongers like me could study a scene me, Alexander Fyfe, now.
out of. But my studies had gone to the I will not deny it, nor murmur at it, nor
winds weeks ago! hlush for it: never sought it, nor rushed in the
And who has done me this kindness, fer way of itit was sentand therefore was right
which I shall he grateful all my life? Who and hest.
must I thank ? Slowly, and rather loath, I went to my chain-
He, generous fellow, had omitted that trifle, her. In the parlor I saw Austin Hardy.
Of course, I told her all. He was sitting over the fire. I should have
Miss Keir was very much affected. She held passed him, hut he turned round. Such a face
out hoth her hands to him silently. Then she such a wan, haggard, wretched facethat I
said, not in her usual whisper, hut in a distinct stopped.
voicefaint indeed, hut an audihle soundthe What have you heen doing? Are you ill ?
first that had passed her lips for years No.
Thank you. God hless you ! Has any thing happened? Come, tell me
Good Dr. James Corrie started up, quite pale we were lads together.
and incredulous. He groaned Oh, that I were a lad again!
Yes, she added, smiling on him, I can Alick, Alick, if you would help me to begin my
speak. life afresh, and make it in any way worthy of
This sudden joy has done it all. God bless Of Out with it.
you, Mr. Hardy I Of Ellice Keir.
But Hardy had disappeared. * * * * * I had at times suspected thishad even tried
That night, after the drawing-room was de- to grasp at the possibility of it, boldly, as we
serted, I sat alone there. dash at some horrible doubt that we know lies
I leaned my cheek against the velvet arm- in wait for us, wolf-likepin it to the ground
chair, which still seemed to keep the impress and worry itwith a sort of hope that it will
and even the perfume of her black hair. Long either vanish into air at our touch, or that we
meditations seized me. All my past life glided shall succeed in slaying it, leave it dead at our
before me in a moving picturethe latter half feet, and go on our way, safe and free.
of it standing still like a diorama under my But now, when the beast met mewhen
gaze. Then, it began less to fade than to pshaw! let me say it in plain Englishwhen I
changenew forms mingling with the old, con- knew that my cousin loved and wished to marry
fusedly at first. Gradually the old shapes Ellice Keir, it drove me mad.
melted out, without any sense of loss, and the All kinds of insanities whirled through my
new, the transcending beautiful and perfect brain. If I had any connected impulse at all,
scene stood out before me vivid as life itself. it was, to fly at his throat and strangle him.
I said in my heart: Every man, at every But onlyGod be my witnessbecause he
great crisis of his existence, has a right, within dared to love her. Any certainty that she loved
reasonable and honorable bounds, to secure his him, wouldI feel it wouldhave sanctified
own happiness, to grasp at the cup which he him in my eyes; I could not have done him any
feels would he his souls strength and salvation, harm.
It shall be so. Therefore, to-morrowto-mor- Of course feelings like these snhside, and one
row. smiles at them afterward, as I smile now. But
Rising, I paced the room. .My weak nervous- I would not like to live through that five mia-
ness was gonemy spirit was strung up to its utes again.
utmost pitch. I was able to remove mountains. It passed in total silence. I am thankful to
My brain felt clearmy heart throbbed with all say I never uttered a sound.
the warmth of my youth. Oh! what a youth I Austin a~ last raised his head, and looked at
had! I could weep over it. In this moment me. I steadily met his eyes. There was no
it all came hack. I could have written a great mistaking mine.
hook, have lived a great life; have achieved the ~My God, Ahick! You too ?
most daring exploit, have nerved myself to the Precisely.
most heroic sacrifice. We stood face to face, nublenching, for a full
This was what she had made of meshe, and minute more. Then I said,
him whom I honored as much as I knew she Strike hands. Fair fightno quarteror,
did. ButI loved her. if you will, lets both fly, and the devil take thB
Strange, solemn lovemore solemn than any hindmost.
young mans lovelove that comes in autumn For I was very mad indeed. Austin, on the
seasonwild as autumn blastsdelicious and contrary, was very quietnay, meek. We
calm as autumn sunshinedelicious, not as seemed to have changed natures.
merely itself, but as the remembrance of by- No, he said at length, flying is useless;
gone springclung to as we cling to every soft I should fall dead on the road; lll take my
October day that dies, knowing that afterward chance. It must be as you sayfair fight, and
nothing can come, nothing will come, nothing no quarter.
ought to come, but winter and snows. This It shall he.
fatal loveI say fatal, simply implying that it Again a long l~ WATER CURE. 109
What do you purpose doing ?
What do you purpose ?
Neither answered the others question. Each
looked in the others face, savagely, and dropped
his eyes in a sort of pity for the misery imprinted
there.
I wish it had not come to this, Alexander.
We, that should have been brothers, if. I had
married little Mary.
That childs name calmed us. Both, looking
aside, half extended an involuntary hand.
Let us not be enemies, yet. We do not
know whether
Tell me honestly, Austin, have you no be-
lief in her preferenceno tangible hope ?
Before Heaven, not a straw I
I breathed freer. I did not refuse the hand;
we had been friends so many, many years.
Fair play, Alick ? said Hardy, almost pite-
ously. You are a far cleverer fellow than I.
You can talk with her and interest her. She
likes yourespects you. Now, Ioh, what a
wretched, trifling, brainless fool I must appear
to her I
Poor fellow !poor, open-hearted, simple-
minded soul!
Lad, ladwith my hand on his shoulder
as when we used to stand fishing in the silvery
Tyne Do you think a woman only cares for
brains ?
He shook his head hopelessly. I cant say.
I dont know. God forgive mewith a bitter,
remorseful humiliation till now I have hardly
known any thin0 of good womenthats it.
He added, after a pause It is not merely
losing her, you see; if I lose her, I shall lose
myselfthe better self she put into me. My
every chance of a new life hangs on her. Think
how she would help methink what a man she
would make of me. If I married her Hold
your hands off. Are you mad, Fyfe ?
I am afraid so.
She married! Married !sitting by another
mans fireside. The wife of another mans bo-
somthe mother of another mans children!
Reason could not take it in, imagination beat it
oW even from the merest outworks of the brain.
If once allowed to enter the citadel, there would
have been a grand explosiona conflagration
reaching to the very heavens, burning down to
such a heap of ruins, that no man could rebuild
a city thereon any more.
But this is what they call fine writing.
Better say, in polite phrase, that the idea of
this ladys marriageand to my cousinwas
rather trying to a person of my excitable tem-
perament.
I believe Austin was roused from his own
feelings to contemplate mine. I have a vague
recollection of his startled, shocked look, and
the extreme gentleness of his, Do sit down
theres a good fellow. I knew you didnt mean
me any harm.
Also, I mind his watching me as I paced the
roomwatching with a disturbed, grieved air
and muttered to himself:
VOL. XT.No. 61.Il
Poor ladhe was always weakly. His
mother used to say, a great misfortune would
kill him or tum his brain.
I hope it would.
Alickdont say that. He turned upon me
absolutely brimming eyes. Now, it so happened
that, being her sisters child, Austins eyes were
not unlike my mothers. What could I do, but
come and sit down opposite to him, and try des-
perately to struggle against the strong tendency
which I knew my mind hadwhich almost all
minds similarly constituted, and hard worked,
have likewiseto lose its balance, and go rock-
ing, rocking, in a pleasant motion that seems
temporarily to lull pain, till it plunges over, over,
just one hair-breadth, and is lost in the abyss
whence Reason is absent for evermore.
That is rightsit down. I should be sorry
if I wronged you, Alexander; sorry that any
thing should turn you abainit me. You, the
only fellow who never flattered or quizzed me
who has stuck by me through thick and thin, for
my own sake, I do believe, and not for my prop-
erty.
And he was the only fellow who, ignorant of
the gimcrackery of literaturedisregarding my
petty reputationmy barren laurels
loved heartily, and had loved from boyhood, not
the celebrated author, but the man Alexander
Fyfe.
Such a friendship ns ours, cemented by its
very incongruities, was rareand precious as
rare. Love could notshould not, annihilate it.
Austin, lets to bed. We shall see things
clearer in the morning. Good-night. God
bless you, myboy! * * * * * *
Nevertheless, it was a horrible night, and a
horrible waking. Things stand so ghastly plain
in the face of day.
Yet, blessings on you, friendly water-demon,
that came so welcomely at dawn, with pail after
pail of icy torrents, cooling all the fever in my
blood, leaving behind, on soul as well as body,
a warm, heroic, healthy glow. I do believe half
the passions, crimes, and miseries of humanity
would be calmed down under the influence of
water cure.
In the ball, quaffing our matutinal glass, clear
as crystal, refreshing as the elixir vitce, my cousin
and I met face to face-faces, strange, no doubt,
and pallid still, but very different from last night.
No reference to that; temporarily the ghost
was laid.
Good-morning.
Good-morning. Starting for your walk?
Tis damp, rather.
Very. Are you for the wood?
Probably. And you for the moorland ?
Ay.
So tacitly we parted. Generally we walked
together, but not now.
Up the hillside, through the mass of red
beech-leaves her pony had trampled through;
how dead and dank they now lay, slowly pass-
ing into corruption. Up, npit is my habit
never to rest till I have climbed as far as one 110 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
can climbup, steadily, till I came out on the us used to court and wait for the minutewe
level moorland. each touched her hand. And many times a day
It was all in a soft mist. Not a breath stir- that same oneI will not answer for the other
ring; not a waft of cold December wind. The would, standing by her, in serious fire-side ar-
year had laid itself down to die patiently. It gument, or easy meal-time, look down, right
would not struggle any more. Only sometimes downshe had a curiously steady, earnest, in-
a great drop would come with a plash from nocent gaze, when she was talkinginto the in-
some fir-tree hard by, like a heavy involuntary finitely tender depths, the warm, dark splendors
tear. But the leaden sky would not yield; the of her eyes.
rain refused to fall. Yet neither of us, by word or look, sought to
I walked for a whole hour pondering. The win, or by any word or look of hers could found
text of my meditations was Austins saying of a hope that we might win her preference.
last night And, night after night, when the days ordeal
She is my better self. If I lose her I shall was over, we used to sit silent over the fire in
lose my soul. our own room, sometimes by chance catching
Now I, weak as my body was, had my soul in sight of one anothers faces, and recognizing
my own hand. there the marvelous self-denial, the heroic self-
I might dieprobably I should; but I did not control, which kept deferring, each for the oth-
believe that any stroke, however heavy, would ers sake, the delicious, the fatal day.
drive out of my heart the virtue which her bless- We satnot unlike two friends drifting sea-
ed influence had implanted there. Misery might ward in a crazy boat, incapable of a double
kill me, or (possibly, though I trusted in Gods freight, who sit sadly gazingwilling to prolong
mercy not!) might make me a lunatic, but it the time, yet knowing that under certain definite
never would make me a criminal. Him, it might. circumstances, asid within a certain definite time,
I took my determinationat least, for a time one or the other must go down. * * * ** *
till things altered, or till I saw some dim light. She was sitting talking with me in Dr. Jamess
Oh, no! Unless I sought for it, toiled for it, study; no one there but our two selvesnot a
prayed for it, how could such a fellow as I hope face to watch hers, save mine and those pic-
to see the faintest love-light shining on me from tured faces on the walls, which she was so fond
her sweet eyes? ofrare prints gathered by James Corrie on his
So no wrong to her in that determination of wanderings: grand old Buonarotti, and angelic,
mine, boyish Raphael, and Giotto, with that noble,
Again Austin and I met in the midst of a irregular profile, serious, sweet, and brave.
cluster of cheerful patientssomehow patients It is not unlike Dr. Jnmes himself, I fancy.
always are cheerful at the water cure. We were Do you think so? So do I sometimes.
cheerful too. I felt, and something in his voice And Miss Keir sewed faster at her work, a
causing me to look at him hard, showed me he collar or handkerchief for Harry, who had been
felt an extraordinary calm. the light of Highwood now for several days.
He followed me to ~ur rooms. What a pure nature it is, continued I,
Alexander, just one word. I have thought and still looked at the Giotto, and thinking of
over last night, and somewhat changed my James Corrie. So very tender, for all it is
mind. so steadfast and so strong. I hardly ever hon-
So have I. ored any man as I do our friend the Doctor.
I shall not speak to hernot just yet. Do not you ?
Nor I. He has been the kindest friend in the world
Again we looked fixedly at one another to harry and to me.
again, hand to hand, we rivals, yet almost broth- And to me also. I must try to tell him so
ers, tenderly closed, before I go away.
Thank you, Austin. You are not going away? Surely, not yet ?
You are a good fellow, Fyfe. Thatstartthat look of earnest regret. What
I think, said I, brokenly, this is right a leap my heart gave.
this is how she would wish it to be. We must I thought I understood, with a slight
not hate one another for her loveshe who has hesitation, that you were to stay at Ilighwood
been a saving angel to us both. till after the new year?
Ay, so she has. Did James Corrie say so? And do you
Let her be so stilllet every thing go on as wish it ?
usnal, till some chance gives either a sign of her And that warm, soft color which, during all
regard. Then, each for himself! a fair struggle, our talk, had been growing, growing, now seemed
and God comfort the one who falls ! * * ~ * * glowing into scarlet under my gaze. No; I
l)ay after day, during the whole of those would not take away my eyes. I would see
strange two weeks, did things go on as usual. whether they could not light up in hers some
That is, we met liar at breakfast, at dinner, at tithe of the hidden fire that I knew must be
supper; sometimes walked with her, drove with burning in my own.
herpassed every evening in her presence, I was right! She did trembleshe did blush,
within sound of her voice, within brushing of vividly, almost like a girl of fifteenthis calm,
her dress. Twice every dayfool! how one of this quiet Ellice Keir. WATER CURE. 111
I ought; indeed I ought to go. My book
you knowmy
Stammering, I ceased.
She laid her work down, and looked me
straight in the face in her peculiar way, saying,
softly
No; you must not go. You are not strong
enough. Besides, I want you to stayjust a
week longer. Never mind your hook.
Miss Keir, you know I would thrust it and
all the hooks IL ever wrote iuto that flame this
minute, if
I remembered my pledge. Ay, Austin
sacredly.
If what ?
If Miss Keir will tell me the reason why
she wishes me to stay ?
I said this in an exaggeration of carelessness
even trvin~ to make a joke of it. I did not
cxi)ect to see that strange, unwonted blush rise
again over face and throat, nor to see her very
fingers tremble as she worked.
What was to become of me? One second
snore, and I should have forgotten allshe
would have known all. Thank God it was not
so,
I snatched up a book, muttered some vague
apology, and rushed ont of her sight.
No; this could not go on. An end must be
put to it somehow. While she was indifferent,
quiet, composedmerely the lady who smilingly
shook hands with me morning and night, I could
hear it. But to see her as I saw her this morn-
ingall the woman stirred in her, blushing,
tremhliugnot Miss Keir, but ElliceEllice!
It could not be. The crisis must come.
I made up my mind. But first I went in
search of Austin Hardyhesitatingly and slow;
for involuntarily, a wild conviction had forced
itself on my mindforgive me, thou essence of
most simple and pure womanhood; but we men
have snch intensities sometimesa conviction
that Austin, at least, would never win Ellice
Keir.
I went to meet him in the garden with a
strange pityeven a shamefaced remorse. I
Ibund him walking, talking, and laughing with
Harry and Ellice Keir.
Yes, certainly, we will come, both Harry
and I, and see all these wonderful changes and
improvements at Netherlands. I am so happy
to think of them all. You will not forget one
of themyou promise ?
I promise.
She spoke earnestlyHardy too: so earnest-
ly that they did not notice me. They stood
still under the great cedar. Harry Keirwhat
a gleesome face the young fellow had !was
tossin0 up and catching cedar~cones.
Yes; I will promise every thing. Nether-
lands shall begin a new life, like its master,
please God! It shall hardly know its old like-
siess. It and the people belonging to it shall
be the pattern of the whole country. Will that
make you happy ?
Very happy. Few things more.~~
And Ay, dear Austin, I beard and hon-
ored the self-command which smoothed down
to indifference that tremulous tone when will
you do me that honor? It shall be quite a fes-
tival when you visit Netherlands. Fyfeab,
my dear fellow, are you there ?Fyfe shall he
asked, and all our good friends here.
Bravo ! cried Harry, with a laugh, as he
tossed up his biggest fir-cone; and Dr. James,
of course.
Most certainly. Every one whom she cares
forevery one who honors her. And now,
Miss Keir, will you too promise ?when ~vill
you come to Netherlands ?
I hopesome timenext year.
Were my eyes dazzled by that red torrent
which seemed to roll pouring in upon my brain;
or did I again see, as an hour before, that same
warm, tremulous, exquisite blushsuch as is
always coming and going in a womans face
when she is very happyorwhen she loves?
Not a word more. She was gone. Austin
and I stood under the heavy shade of the cedar.
Was it that which made his face, and my heart,
seem so dark and so cold?
Now, hardy?
Well. I fear the time has come ?~
I think it has.
I saw him watching her on the terrace where
she and Harry were walking merrily. The sun
was shining there. As he looked, all the gloom
passed out of his countenance; it seemed to
gather the sunshine too.
Jealousy! I had written pages on pages
about itlearned to throw myself into the
feeling, as our literary cant goesflattered my-
self I had sketched beautifully, to the very life,
the whole thing. But now, to realize what I
had descrihedand Fancy indulged in a cruel
spasmodic laugh to see how very real I bad
done itnow to feel the horror gnawing at me,
like that fiend the old monk-painter painted,
who afterward came and stood at his elbow till
he died; to feel not only through my brains,
hut in my heart, that jealousy of which we poets
prate so grandlymake into such pathetic nov-
els, such withering tragediesjealousy, which
we say leads to hatred, madness, murderI
could believe itI could prove it. I plumbed
its lowest depths of possible crime in that one
minute when I watched my cousin Austin
watching Ellice Keir.
I had loved Austindid so still. Yet for
that one minutethank God it was only one
I hated him, loathed him. I believe I could
have seen him shot doxvn, and mounted over
his dead body to the citadel of my frenzied
hope. But, better is he that ruleth his spirit
than he who taketh a city. I ruled mine.
Austin, this must end.
It must. When ?
To-day, if you will. Therelook, see nas
gone within doors.
We stoodthe crisis was at hand. Our boat
reeledquivered. Very pale were our faces.
Wldcls would be the one to go down? 112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Who is to learn his fortune first? said
Hardy.
Lets draw lots. I laughedI felt spurred
on to any kind of insane folly. Lets toss up,
as tbe children do; or, since coins are as dross
with you, and as lifes worth to melets take
to the sentimental, the poetical. Here, choose.
I tore a sprig of cedar, and a sprig of a yew-
tree hard by, and held out to him the two sterns,
leaves being hidden.
Now, which? who is for his cedar-palace,
and who for his branch of yew ?
I know Hardy thought I was losing my wits
fast. No, he said, gently; no childs play
we must be men. Go you in and speak to
her first.
He leaped the dike into the field. So it be-
came my doom. Best, far the best.
The door happened to be fastened. I thought
I would get into the house, as I often did, by
the low windows of the Doctors study. Stand-
lag there, I looked in.
James Corrie sat at his table, not writing, but
thiaking. His chin was on his folded hands
his eyes out-looking, calm and clear. What a
noble face it wasthe face of one who has gone
through seas of trouble, and landed at length in
serene, soul-satisfying joy.
Twice I knocked on the pane, and he did not
J)crceive me. Then hearing me call, he came
forward, smiling.
I shall not interrupt you, Doctor; I am
goiag:is M
Just stay one minute. I wanted to say a
word to youby, in fact, by the particular wish
of Miss Keir.
I sat down.
James Corrie folded his newspaper, closed
his desk, looked something different from what
James Corrie was wont to lookbut happy, in-
effably happy still.
I am waiting to hear
Ay, and you shall hear, my old friend, for
I know you will rejoice. Simply this. Miss
Keir has told me you intend leaving us, and
she wishes, most earnestly, that you would stay
till after the New Year.
And you?
Even if Alexander Fyfe were not welcome
for his own sake, as he knows he is, still what-
ever adds to her happiness must necessarily add
to mine.
He whom I knew she heldas in his simple
goodness all good women might hold himlike
a very brother; he who, she said, had been to
her the kindest friend in the worldstrange
for him to speak to me thus! Perhaps, in spite
of myseig I had betrayed my feelings. Did lie
thinkdid he guess
I see you do not quite understand me. You
do not knowin truth, being neitherof us young,
we were rather unwilling it should be known or
talked aboutthat Miss Keir and myself have
been engaged for two years; that, God willing,
next Saturday, New Years morning, will be our
wedding-day. * * * * * *
NoI was right; it did not slay inc. This
misery passed by, and destroyed neither my life
nor Austins soul.
Gods mercy strengthened me. I was able to
help and strengthen him. It was very fortunate
that only I was present when the truth came
out.
That truth neither James Corrie nor his wife
have ever guessed orwill ever learn. Why should
they? It would only pain them in their happi-
ness. And what blame to them? It was all
our own delusion. He is still th~ worthiest man,
and she the noblest woman, we ever knew. God
bless them!
Hardy has gone home to his estates, where
he intends always to reside. If he is able to
carry out one-half of his purposes, no wealthy
landowner in England xviii be more useful, more
honored in his generation than Austin Hardy,
Esquire, of Netherlands; and widely different
as our fortunes are, he and I shall be brothers
until death.
For myself, I am now in my old London
haunts, finishing my long unfinished book. It
xviii be a different book from what it was to be;
different, oh, how different! from what it might
have been. But it will be a very tolerable book
stillwholesome, cheerful, brave. Such an one
as is the Jo triuaphe of a great spiritual Mar-
athonsuc~x an one as I never could have writ-
ten in all my days, had I not, in body and soul,
undergone the Water Cure.
THE UNITED STATES.
THE Legislature of New York adjourned siee die
on the 14th of April. The law for the preven-
tion of Intemperance, of which xve gave a synopsis
in our last Record, was the most important general
act of the session. Opinions have been given and
published from eminent legal authorities, declar-
ing the law to be unconstitutional, but no judicial
decision has yet been had upon it. The law does
not go fully into effect until the 4th of July, though
no licenses for the sale of liquor were to be granted
after the 1st of May. A law was also passed di-
recting the Canal Commissioners to contract for
the repairs and superintendence of the State canals
by sections to the lowest responsible bidders: this
measure, it is believed, will save nearly half a mill-
ion dollars annually to the State. A law was
passed creating a Board of Railroad Commission-
ers, who should have a general charge and super-
vision over all the railroads of the Stateinvesti-
gating accidents, requiring roads to be completed
before they are opened, and exercising a general an-
thorityJa Pennsylvania a law has been passesi
prohibiting the sale of all intoxicating liquors, ex-
cept beer and domestic winesThe Legislature
of Connecticut met at Hartford on the 3d of May,
and proceeded immediately to the election of a Gov-
ernor, the popular election not having resulted in

Monthly Record of Current EventsMonthly Record of Current Events112-117

112 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Who is to learn his fortune first? said
Hardy.
Lets draw lots. I laughedI felt spurred
on to any kind of insane folly. Lets toss up,
as tbe children do; or, since coins are as dross
with you, and as lifes worth to melets take
to the sentimental, the poetical. Here, choose.
I tore a sprig of cedar, and a sprig of a yew-
tree hard by, and held out to him the two sterns,
leaves being hidden.
Now, which? who is for his cedar-palace,
and who for his branch of yew ?
I know Hardy thought I was losing my wits
fast. No, he said, gently; no childs play
we must be men. Go you in and speak to
her first.
He leaped the dike into the field. So it be-
came my doom. Best, far the best.
The door happened to be fastened. I thought
I would get into the house, as I often did, by
the low windows of the Doctors study. Stand-
lag there, I looked in.
James Corrie sat at his table, not writing, but
thiaking. His chin was on his folded hands
his eyes out-looking, calm and clear. What a
noble face it wasthe face of one who has gone
through seas of trouble, and landed at length in
serene, soul-satisfying joy.
Twice I knocked on the pane, and he did not
J)crceive me. Then hearing me call, he came
forward, smiling.
I shall not interrupt you, Doctor; I am
goiag:is M
Just stay one minute. I wanted to say a
word to youby, in fact, by the particular wish
of Miss Keir.
I sat down.
James Corrie folded his newspaper, closed
his desk, looked something different from what
James Corrie was wont to lookbut happy, in-
effably happy still.
I am waiting to hear
Ay, and you shall hear, my old friend, for
I know you will rejoice. Simply this. Miss
Keir has told me you intend leaving us, and
she wishes, most earnestly, that you would stay
till after the New Year.
And you?
Even if Alexander Fyfe were not welcome
for his own sake, as he knows he is, still what-
ever adds to her happiness must necessarily add
to mine.
He whom I knew she heldas in his simple
goodness all good women might hold himlike
a very brother; he who, she said, had been to
her the kindest friend in the worldstrange
for him to speak to me thus! Perhaps, in spite
of myseig I had betrayed my feelings. Did lie
thinkdid he guess
I see you do not quite understand me. You
do not knowin truth, being neitherof us young,
we were rather unwilling it should be known or
talked aboutthat Miss Keir and myself have
been engaged for two years; that, God willing,
next Saturday, New Years morning, will be our
wedding-day. * * * * * *
NoI was right; it did not slay inc. This
misery passed by, and destroyed neither my life
nor Austins soul.
Gods mercy strengthened me. I was able to
help and strengthen him. It was very fortunate
that only I was present when the truth came
out.
That truth neither James Corrie nor his wife
have ever guessed orwill ever learn. Why should
they? It would only pain them in their happi-
ness. And what blame to them? It was all
our own delusion. He is still th~ worthiest man,
and she the noblest woman, we ever knew. God
bless them!
Hardy has gone home to his estates, where
he intends always to reside. If he is able to
carry out one-half of his purposes, no wealthy
landowner in England xviii be more useful, more
honored in his generation than Austin Hardy,
Esquire, of Netherlands; and widely different
as our fortunes are, he and I shall be brothers
until death.
For myself, I am now in my old London
haunts, finishing my long unfinished book. It
xviii be a different book from what it was to be;
different, oh, how different! from what it might
have been. But it will be a very tolerable book
stillwholesome, cheerful, brave. Such an one
as is the Jo triuaphe of a great spiritual Mar-
athonsuc~x an one as I never could have writ-
ten in all my days, had I not, in body and soul,
undergone the Water Cure.
THE UNITED STATES.
THE Legislature of New York adjourned siee die
on the 14th of April. The law for the preven-
tion of Intemperance, of which xve gave a synopsis
in our last Record, was the most important general
act of the session. Opinions have been given and
published from eminent legal authorities, declar-
ing the law to be unconstitutional, but no judicial
decision has yet been had upon it. The law does
not go fully into effect until the 4th of July, though
no licenses for the sale of liquor were to be granted
after the 1st of May. A law was also passed di-
recting the Canal Commissioners to contract for
the repairs and superintendence of the State canals
by sections to the lowest responsible bidders: this
measure, it is believed, will save nearly half a mill-
ion dollars annually to the State. A law was
passed creating a Board of Railroad Commission-
ers, who should have a general charge and super-
vision over all the railroads of the Stateinvesti-
gating accidents, requiring roads to be completed
before they are opened, and exercising a general an-
thorityJa Pennsylvania a law has been passesi
prohibiting the sale of all intoxicating liquors, ex-
cept beer and domestic winesThe Legislature
of Connecticut met at Hartford on the 3d of May,
and proceeded immediately to the election of a Gov-
ernor, the popular election not having resulted in MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 113
any choice. William T. Miner, the candidate of disunion and the destruction of the free institutions
the Whigs and the American party, was elected, of the country, refusing assent to the admission
receiving 177 votes, his Democratic opponent, Jug- of slavery into any part of the territory embraccd
ham, receiving 70. Governor Miners Message was in the Missouri Compromise, and declaring that
transmitted the next day. It recommends sub- any attempt to commit the American party of
initting to the people an amendment to the Consti- New Hampshire to the advancement of the interest
tution, extending the right of suffra~e to colored of slavery, to ignore it as a political question, or to
persons, and requiring citizens to be able to read enjoin silence upon them in regard to its evils and
and write before being allowed to vote. The Gov- encroachments, deserves, and shall receive their
ernor also recommends an appropriation in aid of earnest and unqualified disapprobation..Gov-
the State Agricultural Society; says the income ernor Reeder of Kansas Territory has been making
of the School Fund the past year has been $129,108, a visit to the Eastern States, and in reply to a
makin~, a dividend of $1 23 for each scholar, and congratulatory address at Easton, Pa., made a
thinks it is the duty of the Legislature to encour- speech containing important statements concerning
age education in every possible way. He says he the recent election in Kansas mentioned in our last
should regard the repeal or modification of the Pro- months Record. It was true, he said, that 1(an-
hibitory Liquor Law as detrimental to the best in- sas had been invaded, conquered, subjugated, by
terests of the State, observing that the effect of the an armed force from beyond her borders, led on by
law has been such as to recommend it to general a fanatical spirit trampling under foot the principle
favor, and that by it crime has been lessened, pov- of the Kansas Bill aud the right of suffrage. He
erty and misery alleviated, and the happiness of said he had been a warm advocate of the Kansas
many a fireside restored. The balance in the and Nebraska Bill, and had always insisted on the
Treasury at the close of the fiscal year is stated at protection of the Slave States in the enjoyment
.$36,000. He favors such a remodeling of the Judi. of their constitutional ri~,hts. The same princi-
ciary system as will facilitate the settlement of pie impelled him to claim with equal pertinacity
causes. He says that the Bankin~ Institutions of the right of suffrage for the people of Kansas.
the State are in a sound and healthy condition; From 6al~fornia we have intelligence to the 7th
that the military will compare favorably with that of April. The Legislature was still in session, but
of sister States. He expresses the opinion that in its proceedings have not been of general interest.
the recent election the people reiterated their em- No further attempt had been made to elect a Uni-
phatic condemnation of the act organizing the Ter- ted States Senator. Considerable embarrassment
ritories of Nebraska and Kansas. The Governor had been caused by a decision of the Supreme
devotes a large share of his message to a consider- Court, that a large sale of wharf property niade
ation of the pernicious influence of the immigration by the city of San Francisco about a year since
of forei~ners into this country. After speaking was illegal, and that no title had been conveyed.
of the large and increasing number of the foreign- Suits against the city to the amount of half a mill-
ers thus arriving, he alludes to their character, ion dollars had been commenced. The recent
their training, and their religious sentiments as bank failures had caused a very great depression
warrantin~ additional legislation for our own in the business of the country, and there had been
safety on the subject. A large mass of our alien a marked and rapid decline in the price of real em-
population, he says, after a residence of only five tate. The mining prospects were reasonably good,
years among us, are but poorly fitted for the though the rainy season, essential to workin0 time
duties of citizenship, nor, in Isis opinion, have mines, was late. A prohibitory liquor law had
they any right to demand that the privilege of passed the Assembly by a vote of 37 to 16, and
citizenship shall be granted to them. Our laws was awaiting tha action of time Senate. The pro-
guarantee to them the protection of their persons ject of a good wagon road from the Sacramento
and property, and furnish the education needed to valley across the Sierra Nevada to the eastern
make them-n American citizens. The political, mu- boundary of the State, was under consideration.
itary, and social combinations of our foreign pop- From the Ist/ssmsus we have news of the erection
ulation line regards also as a great evil. He thinks of the provinces of the Isthmus, namely, Panamna,
furthermore tlmat as a matter of policy connected Azuero, Veraguas, and Chiriqui, into a sovereign
with the privilege of citizenship, to be conferred State by the Congress of New Granada. It is to
minpon the alien, we have the right to inquire how he called the State of Panama, and will still be
far the allegiance due from the members of the under the control of New Granada in every thing
Romish Church to their foreign spiritual head is relating to foreign relations; in the organization
compatible with the alle~ mace due to their adopted and service of the standing army and naval affairs~
country; and if we find that comubinations for poli- national credit; naturalization of forei~,ners; na-
tical action exist, composed of members of this tional receipts and expenses; the use of the flag
church, throwing their entire vote one way or the and arms of tIme Republic; all relative to the pub-
other, as the wishes and feelings or interests of lic lands timat the nation reserves; and weiglints
those controlling may dictate; and farther, if we and measures. In other matters of legislation
mind that these coumbinations are but instruments and administration the State of Panama is free to
in the hands of demagogues, either native born or enact that which is permitted by its own consti-
thrown upon our shores by the revolutionary up- tution.
Imeavings of Europe, then a stron~ reason is found MEXICO.
why a longer residence slinould be required before Reports have been received that Santa Anna
the alien can be naturalized..In New Haninp- is seriously ill, but they lack confirmation. His
shire the American party in State council has death, which was said to be anticipated, would
adopted a series of resolutions protesting against plunge the country into still greater confusion than
the repeal of the Missouri Compromise, the Ne- now prevails. We have confused accounts of the
braska Bill, and the Fugitive Slave Law, as vio- progress of the revolution in various quarters of
hating the spirit of the Constitution, and tending to the country, but they are very inconclusive. At 114 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Tehuantepec the rebels were in possession of the
roads and suburbs, and had made one or two at-
tacks on the place. They are represented as being
a wild, lawless, and undisciplined rabble, and as
being guilty of the grossest ontrages against person
and property. The flag of the United States Con-
sulate was stolen by them in the night, but a de-
mand of the Consul elicited a prompt apology from
Salinas their leader. In several other Depart-
inents it is said the revolutionists have been ef-
fectually routed. The greatest obstacle to their
success seems to be the distrust entertained of them
by the people, as they are generally composed of
the worst classes in the country; most of their lead-
em having long been known as chiefs of brigands.
SOUTh AMERICA,
From Paragnay we hear of hostile proceedings
on the part of the government toward the United
States. The American steamer Water Witch has
been engaged for nearly two years under Captain
Page in exploring the River Parana and its tribu-
taries, and has also been used to remove sundry
American citizens who had become involved in
difficulties with the government. This proceeding
seems to have offended President Lopez, who issued
orders forbidding the entrance of any man-of-war
into the ~aters of the Paraguay. Captain Page
nevertheless sent the Water Witch up the Parana
on the 1st of February; but as she was passing
the battery at the Paso del Rey she was fired upon,
the man at the wheel bela killed. She returned
the fire, and soon after came to anchor. Repre-
sentations of the matter were of course made to our
government.
GREAT BRITAIN.
The event of the month in England has been the
visit of the Emperor and Empress of France, which
was accomplished with the utmost ostentation and
eclat. Having first received the Deputies at the
Tuileries and made them a parting speech, the
Emperor, with the Empress and n numerous suite,
embarked at Calais on the 16th of April on board
the screw steamer Pelican and was received at
Dover by Prince Albert, who with his usual at-
tendants and the French minister had gone down
to meet them. After receiving an address from
the Corporation of Dover they proceeded to Lon-
don by railroad, passed through the city in the
Queens carriage, escorted by a regiment of troops
the streets being densely crowded by an eager
multitudeand took the cars at the Paddington
station for Windsor. Arriving there at seven in
the evening, they were received by the Queen with
the usual Court officials and the Lords Palmerston
and Clarendon. A state dinner followed, and the
town was illuminated in the evening. On the 17th
the Emperor received addresses from various cor-
porations, and on the 18th received at the hands
of the Queen the investiture of the royal order of
the Garter. On Thursday, the 19th, the royal
party went to London to receive the address of the
municipality. An immense multitude thronged
the streets and rent the air with their loud huzzas
hundreds of fia~,s bearing congratulations were
suspended alon~ the route of the royal cortige,
and the utmost enthusiasm pervaded the city.
Gulidhall had been newly decorated and arranged
for the occasion. Two thrones had been erect-
ed for the Emperor and Empress at the end of
the hall, and the leading members of the British
Government, with the diplomatic corps, were in
attendance. The Recorder read a complimentary
address, to which the Emperor read a brief reply.
After the cordial reception isa had experienced from
the Queen, nothing, he said, t~ould affect him more
deeply than the sentiments utt.ered on behalf of the
City of Londonfor London represented the avail-
able resources which a world-wide commerce af-
fords both for civilization and for war. lie ac-
cepted their praises because they were more ad-
dressed to France than to himself addressed to a
nation whose interests were every where identical
with those of England, to an army and navy united
with theirs by a heroic companionship in danger
and glory, to a policy of the two governments based
on truth, on moderation, and on justice. He said
he had retained on the throne the same sentiments
of esteem for the English people he had professed as
an exile; and if he had acted in accordance with his
convictions, it was because the interest of the nation
which had chosen him, as well as of universal civil-
ization,had made it a duty. England and France,
said he, are naturally united on all the great ques-
tions of politics and of human progress that agitate
the world. From the shores of the Atlantic to those
of the Mediterraneanfrom the Baltic to the Black
Seafrom the desire to abolish Slavery, to our
hopes for the amelioration of all the countries of
Europe, I see in the moral as in the political world,
for our two nations, but one course and one end.
It is, then, only by unworthy considerations and
pitiful rivalries that our union could be dissevered.
If we follow the dictates of common sense alone,
we shall be sure of the future. You are right iii
interpreting my presence among you as a fresh
and convincing proof of my energetic co-operation
in the prosecution of the war, if we fail in obtain-
ing an honorable peace. Should we so fail, al-
though our difficulties may be great, we may surely
count on a successful result; for not only are our
soldiers and sailors of tried valornot emily do our
two countries possess within themselves unrivaled
resources, but above alland here lies their supe-
riorityit is been use they are in tIme van of all gen-
erous and enlightened ideas. Time eyes of all wIm
suffer instinctively turn to the West. Thus eur
two nations are even more powerful from the opin-
ions they represent than by the armies and fleets
they have at their command. He concluded by
expressing his thanks for the frank and hearty
cordiality of his reception, and by saying that they
should carry back to France the lasting impression
of the imposing spectacle which England presents,
where virtue on the throne directs the destinies of
a country under the empire of a liberty without
danger to its grandeur. The address was received
with frequent and emphatic applause. In the even-
ing the Queen, with her imperial visitors, attended
the Opera. The next day they visited the Crystal
Palace, and on the day following they returned to
Paris, where they were received by an immense
conconrse.The English Government continues
its preparations for a vigorous prosecution of the
war. The investigations of the Committee of In-
quiry were still prosecuted, and various facts contin-
ued to be developed which were far from creditable
to the discipline and efficiency of the British army.
Nothing, however, had been proved which would
warrant any special censure, still less any punish-
meat, of the commander-in-chief. A new fleet,
larger and much better fitted for the service than
the one of last year, had sailed for time Baltic under
Admiral Dundas. Although there is much less
exultation in advance than there was last year MONTHLY RECORD OF CURRENT EVENTS. 115
upon the departure of Admiral Napier, the general
confidence in the ability of the present fleet to do
good service is much greater. It is not forgotten,
however, that the Russians have during the winter
added very greatly to the defenses of the fortresses
on the Baltic, and that their fleet in that sea now
numbers 73 vessels, manned l~r 25,000 sailors and
12,000 marines .The English Government has
effected a loan of sixteen million pounds sterling,
payable in eight monthly instalments. It was all
taken by the Rothschilds at a rate equivalent to
about 87 per cent, for three per cent. consols.
Mr. Layard on the 5th of April made a speech at
Aberdeen, on the occasion of his installation as
Lord Rector of Marischal College, in which he re-
ferred in very stron, terms to the indisputable fact
that England has lost prestige by the war, that she
has proved unequal to the emergency, and is in im-
minent danger of losing the rank she has hitherto
held among the nations. He attributed the disas-
ters of the war partly to the reckless manner in
which merit is overlooked in public employments,
and passed over to satisfy private and party inter-
ests, but mainly to the vicious and defective char-
acter of the education provided by the Government,
which tasked the memory rather than the intellect,
and was not at all fitted to prepare the young for
the duties of active lifeMr. Bright had also
made a speech at a meeting of the Peace Society
at Manchester, in which he stigmatized the war as
utterly needless, and as having been brought upon
the country hy the ill-temper of Lord Stratford de
Redcliffe, whose predominant passion was resent-
ment of the Czar for having once refused to receive
him as English Minister, and by the utter incom-
petence of Lord Westmoreland, the British repre-
sentative at Vienna. He censured the conduct of
the war, which, however, he deemed hetter than
the war itself. He denied that it was the interest
of Russia to embroil herself with the other nations
of Europe, and said that her treaty-stipulations
with England had always been faithfully observed.
Mr. Bouverie, recently appointed Vice-Presi-
dent of the Board of Trade, has been re-elected by
his constituents at Kilmarnock. In his speech he
attributed the disasters of the Crimea to the im-
perfections in the military system of England, and
said that he had voted against the Committee of
Inquiry because he re~arded it as an attempt to
overthrow the Government, and as an unconstitu-
tional interference in the management of the war.
Lord Harrowby, who made a speech in Parlia-
ment at the close of the last Session, presenting the
reconstruction of Poland as the only effectual means
of carrying on the war, has been appointed Chan-
cellor of the Duchy of Lancaster. This step is re-
garded as indicating a possible change of policy on
the part of the Cabinet, as it would scarcely have
been taken had not Lord Palmerston substantially
concurred in the opinions thus expressed.
FRANCE.
The visit of the Emperor to England created a
high degree of enthusiasm in Paris, and his return
was welcomed by a popular demonstration. Ru-
mors are still circulated that he intends going in
person to the Crimea, but no official intimation of
such a purpose has yet heen given. The opening
of the grand Exhibition of Industry has been post-
poned to the 15th of May. A good deal of atten-
tion has been given, not only in France but through-
out Europe, to the publication in the Al onitem of
an elaborate and evidently official exposition of the
military and political conduct of the Allied gov-
ernments in regard to the war. After stating the
motives which led England and France to unite in
the war against Russia, the instructions are pub-
lished which were given to Marshal St. Arnaud
when he was intrusted with the command of the
French army. The position of Austria is assigned
as the reason why the Allied armies did not at once
commence operations on the Danube and follow the
retreating Russians. They would, moreover, have
put themselves at too great a distance from the sea,
and would have been in presence of a Russian
army of 200,000 men, who would either have await-
ed them in an advantageous position, or else have,
by retreatina, drawn them forward into still greater
dangers. Without the co-operation of Austria, a
campaign beyond the Danube or on the Pruth was
impossible. Austria, on the other hand, was not
then prepared to go to war, as it was indispensable
that she should first secure the countenance and
support of Germany. Nor, again, could the Allied
generals remain inactive while waiting for the de-
cision of Austria, without a loss of prestige and of
moral strength. It was necessary to show an ob-
ject to the troops, to compel the enemy to fear them,
and to excite the ambition and emulation of Eu-
rope. It was under such circumstances and for
such reasons that the expedition to the Crimea
was proposed. The capture of Sebastopol, it was
thought, might hasten the denoueasent, and place
in the hands of the Allies a stronghold which would
be important in negotiating for a peace. Marshal
St. Arnaud was ordered to land at Kaffa, about
forty miles from Sebastopol. These counsels, how-
ever, unhappily were not followed, and the course
that was taken rendered it impossible to invest the
place. An assault might possibly have succeeded
immediately after the battle of the Alma, but the
undertaking would have been one of great hazard.
Prudence counseled the course that had been taken.
The Russians, by keeping open their communica-
tion with Simeraphol, and by sinking their fleet at
the entrance of the harbor, had added greatly to
the difficulties of the siege; and it soon became
evident that the place could be taken only after a
long struggle, with powerful reinforcements, and
at the cost of sanguinary battles. The political
necessity of the war is vindicated by citing evi-
dence that Russia has for many years aimed at
complete domination at Constantinople and over
the Black Sea as the end of her ambition, and by
showing that the establishment of such a predom-
inance would be absolutely fatal to the independ-
cam of the States of Europe. In resisting this
ambition, therefore, England and France were re-
ally fighting the battles of every other European
State. Their armies and fleets were the avcnt-
gurdes of Europe; and havin, first arrived at the
theatre of war, they had a right to expect that they
would be followed thither by Austria and Prussia.
Those two Powers bad long hesitated, and had
finally asked the Allies if they would still treat for
peace on the basis of the four points. After long
consideration this proposition was acceded to, and
negotiations were reopened at Vienna. Nothing
could be more moderate or proper than the condi-
tions of peace proposed. The first, putting an end
to the protectorate of Russia over the Danubian
provinces, and plaeingthem under the guardianship
of the great Powers, would deprive Russia of the
means of subjugating their population and domina-
ting Turkey. The second, guaranteeing the free 116 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
navigation of the Danube, would liberate the com-
merce of all nations, and especially of Austria, from
the obstacles it encounters. The fourth, relieving
Turkey from the religious protectorate of Russia,
would preserve religious freedom, and at the same
time destroy the supremacy which the Czar had
asserted and exercised. The third, and most im-
portant, which had for its object to limit the pre-
ponderance of Russia in the Black Sea, was neces-
sary for the security of Enrope as well as for the
integrity of the Ottoman Empire. Russia had
made the Black Sea a Russian lake; she has
founded maritime establishments there of the first
magnitude, and has placed Constantinople, as it
were, in a state of permanent siege. Russia has
already lost this supremacy by the war; her fleets
dare no longer show themselves in the Black Sea,
and her fleet has been sunk in the harbor of Sebasto-
pol. Four men-of-war of each of the three maritime
Powers can prevent Russia from ever entering that
sea again. In insisting, therefore, upon a formal
limitation of Russian power there, the Allies insist
on nothing unreasonableon nothing that they
have not achieved. Whether the negotiations
should prove successful or not, England and France
bad proved their moderation by consenting to
them, and had rendered certain the co-operation
of Austria, if the conference should not effect the
restoration of peaceSuch is the substance of the
official articles in the Afoaiteer.
AUSTRIA.
We have intelligence from Vienna of the failure
of the pending negotiations, and the disruption of
the Conference. From the imperfect accounts that
have reached us, it appears that twelve sittings had
been held. The French Minister, M. Dronyn de
Lhuys, repaired to Vienna at the ninth sitting,
when an envoy from Turkey was also introduced,
and took part in the proceedings ; his instructions
which have been published, indicate ajealous care
on the part of the Ottoman Porte, that the inde-
pendence of Turkey should not suffer detriment
from the Allied Powers. The difference, it is
stated, took place on the third of the four points
that relating to the limitation of the power of Rus-
sia in the Black Sea. The Western Powers, at the
eleventh sitting, demanded the absolute neutral-
ization of the Black Seathe exclusion from its
waters of all vessels of war of all nations. After
forty-eight hours consideration, Prince Gortsch-
akoff communicated the absolute rejection of these
terms by the Russian government, and refused to
admit the principle of the limitation of her fleet.
Upon this the Conference was suspended, and both
the English and French Ministers were to take
leave on the 22d. This result apparently destroys
all hope of a speedy termination of the war. Under
these circumstances additional importance is due to
the alleged unwillingness of Austria to assume a
hostile attitude toward Russia. Indeed it is as-
serted that she refused to unite with the Allies in
their demands, and declared her unwillingness to
a0 any further in her exactions than to require that
the Russian fleet in the Black Sea should remain in
stata quo; that the Western Powers should have
consuls at Sebastopol, who should be under the im-
mediate protection of their Ministers at St. Peters-
burg; and that they should also have the right to
construct war ports on some part of the Turkish
eoast.
SPAIN.
A misunderstanding has occurred between the
Spanish Cabinet and the governments of England
and France. A vessel bought from a Russian by
a Spanish subject, was captured as lawful prize f
war by a French vessel. The dispute was to be
referred to Paris. Lord Howden, the British em-
bassador, is complained of for having protested
against the treatment of Protestants in regard to
their burial-places. It is stated in the Spanish
journals that the government has sent to Wash-
ington a full assent to the arrangement for the set-
tlement of the Black Wa ior difficulty. The ques-
tion of the National Militia has been settled, an
amendment forbidding them to discuss political
questions having been adopted in the Cortes by a
vote of 165 to 28. There were some attempts at
popular disturbance, but they were soon suppressed.
THE EASTERN WAR
Our advices from Sebastopol are to the 17th
of April, and indicate the rapid approach of a
crisis. The bombardment of the place had in fact
commenced and continued unceasingly from the
9th; five hundred heavy g-nns playing day and
night upon the fortifications. Notwithstanding this
terrible attackthis feu demifer, as it is strongly
characterized by Gortschakoff in an official dis-
patchwhich had continued for more than a week,
the fortifications had suffered but little damage,
though several Russian batteries had been de-
stroyed. It was believed that the bombardment
was to be continued a week longer, at the end
of which time the Allies counted confidently on
being able to carry the place by storm. One
thing is clear, if such an assault should be at-
tempted, it will be one of the bloodiest engage-
ments on record. A heavy engagement was
fought on the 22d March between the Russians
and French, in which the former lost over 2000,
and the latter over 600 in killed and wounded.
After the engagement there was a suspension of
hostilities for the burial of the dead. The weather
had become pleasant, the health of the troops was
improving, and a much better state of feeling pre-
vaiied in the Allied camps.
CHINA.
Advices from Canton to the middle of Februnry~
indicate some recent progress on the part of the
insurgents. They had invested Canton and de-
stroyed the villages in its neighborhood, though it
is said that dissensions among their leaders have
preventod an attack upon the city. Many of
the southern provinces remain in their posses-
sion, and the capital of the empire is said to
be closely beleaguered by them. They have
held possession of Shanghai for fifteen months.
The French have joined the imperial forces, and
have been twice repulsed in an attempt to drive
the rebels out of this place. The English and
American local authorities have abstained from
taking part with either of the contending parties,
but have concerted measures to protect the inter-
ests of their countrymen. Sir John Bowring, the
British embassador, has assured merchants, who
had made inquiries of him on the subject, that
plans for the security and defense of the factories
had been agreed upon by the British and American
superior naval officers, and had met with the full
concurrence of the diplomatic functionaries, who
have instructed the consuls to give effect to these
arrangements. Liserary and Philosophical Miscellanies, by
GEORGE BANCROFT. (Published by Harper and
Brothers.) The devotion with which Mr. Ban-
croft has engaged in his labors on American history
during the last twenty years, has deprived the pub-
lic, to a great extent, of the miscellaneous writings
that might naturally have been expected from his
copious and energetic pen. Few authors of his
ability and eminence have so exclusively confined
their productions to a specific department. Re-
sisting the temptation to literary diffuseness which,
in this country especially, is the besetting sin of
ambitious writers, he has wisely selected the field
for his exertions, and has applied himself to its
cultivation with singular assiduity. Without aim-
ing at the renown of a superficial universality, he
has preferred the composition of a single master-
piece which would identify his name with the lit-
erature of his country. Mr. Bancrofts History of
the United States, indeed, is a work that indicates
an extensive range of thought and study beyond
the special department of inquiry, the mature fruits
of which it embodies and sets forth in their most
general and comprehensive relations. The fancy
of the poet, the insight of the philosopher, and the
dialectics of the logician are conspicuous in its
pages, no less than the sagacity of the historian.
The wealth of elegant learning and the habits of
profound thought which they display, have often
inspired the wish, on the part of Mr. Bancrofts
readers, for a collection of his writings on other
topics, and particularly in the field of philosophy
and general literature. They can not fail to be
gratified by the publication of this volume. They
will greet it with a prompt welcome, not only as an
illustration of the culture and research which have
ripened into his great historical work, but on ac-
count of the variety, beauty, and intrinsic value of
its contents.
The materials which compose the volume are di-
vided into Essays, Studies in German Literature,
including poetical translations from that language,
Studies in History, and Occasional Addresses. The
Essays, which are only three in number, treating
of the Doctrine of Temperaments, Ennui, and the
Ruling Passion in Death, are models of philosoph-
ical disquisition in a popular style, abounding in
curious facts and illustrations, argued with exqui-
site subtlety of reasoning, and wrought with strik-
ing felicity of diction.
The Studies in German Literature occupy a
wider space. They comprise a brief historical
sketch of the development of German culture, ana-
lvtical criticisms of the principal German writers,
and miscellaneous translations from the most cele-
brated German poets. Since the date of these ad-
mirable papers, the study of German literature has
made great progress both in this country and in
England; its treasures have been freely opened to
the common mind; its characteristic features have
become incorporated, to a certain degree, with pre-
vailing habits of thought; the finest intellects of
our time have passed judgment on its productions;
but we shall nowhere find, within the same com-
pass, such a discriminating and comprehensive ac-
count of its chief authors,such well-considered de-
cisions on their merits, such a grave and impartial
estimate of their influence, and such brilliant illus-
trations of their peculiar genius, as in these re
markable Studies. Although written at an early
period of Mr. Bancrofts literary careerforming,
in some sense, the blossoming and first-fruits of his
mindthey exhibit the same breadth and sagacity
of view, the same philosophical acumen, the same
appreciation of universal beauty, and the same
combination of ornate and forcible expression
which distinguish the efforts of his maturer years.
The portraitures of Herder, Richter, Schiller, and
Goethe challenge comparison with the most con-
summate delineations of this kind in our language.
The themes of the Studies in History include
the Economy of Athens, the Decline of the
Roman People, Russia, and the Wars of Rus-
sia and Turkey. Embodying the results of ex-
tensive research, and in some instances enriched
with a profusion of curious and recondite learning,
these essays are a signal proof of the vocation of
the author to historical composition. In point of
style they are highly elaborated, uniting a singu-
lar conciseness of expression with a pregnant full-
ness of meaning, arranging the intricate details of
obscure questions in a transparent narrative, whose
flowing richness beguiles the reader into the pos-
session of a copious store of information, without
the consciousness of a painful mental effort.
The last division of the volume comprises vari-
ous occasional addresses, amon, which are several
specimens of popular eloquence, remarkable for the
clearness and force with wbich the fruits of pro-
found research and meditation are presented to the
comprehension of a general audience. The tributes
to Calvin, Dr. Channing, and President Jackson are
singularly happy in their conception, and clothed
in language of artistic beauty and grace. The re-
cent Discourse before the New York Historical So-
ciety, on the Progress of the Human Race, forms
an appropriate conclusion to the volume.
It is always a hazardous experiment to repro-
duce the miscellaneous works of a distinguished
author, written at a comparatively early period of
Isis development, but presented to the public scru-
tiny under the searching light of his mature fame.
In the present case, however, there is no room for
disappointment. Compared with Mr. Bancrofts
great historical work the collection now issued is
fully worthy of its companionship. In its own
way, it furnishes a scarcely less splendid illustra-
tion of his genius than the American History. Its
depth and originality of thought, its finished schol-
arship, its comprehensive wisdomn of view, and the
vigor and elegance of its diction will secure it a
permanent place at the side of that noble monument
to his renown.
The Whole French Laisguoge is the title of a new
manual of education on the Robertsonian system
of teaching modern languages, edited by Louis
ERNST. The author of this system is Professor
Ron T5ON, a celebrated teacher in Paris, who
has obtained a European reputation by the excel-
lence of his method and the success of his instruc-
tions. It claims to combine the most valuable
features in the systems of Manesca, Ollendorff
Hamilton, and the older grammatical authorities,
while it is free from the defects which diminish the
pr~ etical utility of those methods. The text on
which the volume is founded, is an original and
attractive narrative, presenting all the peculiar
idioms of the French 1an~uage, together with ~

Literary NoticesLiterary Notices117-120

Liserary and Philosophical Miscellanies, by
GEORGE BANCROFT. (Published by Harper and
Brothers.) The devotion with which Mr. Ban-
croft has engaged in his labors on American history
during the last twenty years, has deprived the pub-
lic, to a great extent, of the miscellaneous writings
that might naturally have been expected from his
copious and energetic pen. Few authors of his
ability and eminence have so exclusively confined
their productions to a specific department. Re-
sisting the temptation to literary diffuseness which,
in this country especially, is the besetting sin of
ambitious writers, he has wisely selected the field
for his exertions, and has applied himself to its
cultivation with singular assiduity. Without aim-
ing at the renown of a superficial universality, he
has preferred the composition of a single master-
piece which would identify his name with the lit-
erature of his country. Mr. Bancrofts History of
the United States, indeed, is a work that indicates
an extensive range of thought and study beyond
the special department of inquiry, the mature fruits
of which it embodies and sets forth in their most
general and comprehensive relations. The fancy
of the poet, the insight of the philosopher, and the
dialectics of the logician are conspicuous in its
pages, no less than the sagacity of the historian.
The wealth of elegant learning and the habits of
profound thought which they display, have often
inspired the wish, on the part of Mr. Bancrofts
readers, for a collection of his writings on other
topics, and particularly in the field of philosophy
and general literature. They can not fail to be
gratified by the publication of this volume. They
will greet it with a prompt welcome, not only as an
illustration of the culture and research which have
ripened into his great historical work, but on ac-
count of the variety, beauty, and intrinsic value of
its contents.
The materials which compose the volume are di-
vided into Essays, Studies in German Literature,
including poetical translations from that language,
Studies in History, and Occasional Addresses. The
Essays, which are only three in number, treating
of the Doctrine of Temperaments, Ennui, and the
Ruling Passion in Death, are models of philosoph-
ical disquisition in a popular style, abounding in
curious facts and illustrations, argued with exqui-
site subtlety of reasoning, and wrought with strik-
ing felicity of diction.
The Studies in German Literature occupy a
wider space. They comprise a brief historical
sketch of the development of German culture, ana-
lvtical criticisms of the principal German writers,
and miscellaneous translations from the most cele-
brated German poets. Since the date of these ad-
mirable papers, the study of German literature has
made great progress both in this country and in
England; its treasures have been freely opened to
the common mind; its characteristic features have
become incorporated, to a certain degree, with pre-
vailing habits of thought; the finest intellects of
our time have passed judgment on its productions;
but we shall nowhere find, within the same com-
pass, such a discriminating and comprehensive ac-
count of its chief authors,such well-considered de-
cisions on their merits, such a grave and impartial
estimate of their influence, and such brilliant illus-
trations of their peculiar genius, as in these re
markable Studies. Although written at an early
period of Mr. Bancrofts literary careerforming,
in some sense, the blossoming and first-fruits of his
mindthey exhibit the same breadth and sagacity
of view, the same philosophical acumen, the same
appreciation of universal beauty, and the same
combination of ornate and forcible expression
which distinguish the efforts of his maturer years.
The portraitures of Herder, Richter, Schiller, and
Goethe challenge comparison with the most con-
summate delineations of this kind in our language.
The themes of the Studies in History include
the Economy of Athens, the Decline of the
Roman People, Russia, and the Wars of Rus-
sia and Turkey. Embodying the results of ex-
tensive research, and in some instances enriched
with a profusion of curious and recondite learning,
these essays are a signal proof of the vocation of
the author to historical composition. In point of
style they are highly elaborated, uniting a singu-
lar conciseness of expression with a pregnant full-
ness of meaning, arranging the intricate details of
obscure questions in a transparent narrative, whose
flowing richness beguiles the reader into the pos-
session of a copious store of information, without
the consciousness of a painful mental effort.
The last division of the volume comprises vari-
ous occasional addresses, amon, which are several
specimens of popular eloquence, remarkable for the
clearness and force with wbich the fruits of pro-
found research and meditation are presented to the
comprehension of a general audience. The tributes
to Calvin, Dr. Channing, and President Jackson are
singularly happy in their conception, and clothed
in language of artistic beauty and grace. The re-
cent Discourse before the New York Historical So-
ciety, on the Progress of the Human Race, forms
an appropriate conclusion to the volume.
It is always a hazardous experiment to repro-
duce the miscellaneous works of a distinguished
author, written at a comparatively early period of
Isis development, but presented to the public scru-
tiny under the searching light of his mature fame.
In the present case, however, there is no room for
disappointment. Compared with Mr. Bancrofts
great historical work the collection now issued is
fully worthy of its companionship. In its own
way, it furnishes a scarcely less splendid illustra-
tion of his genius than the American History. Its
depth and originality of thought, its finished schol-
arship, its comprehensive wisdomn of view, and the
vigor and elegance of its diction will secure it a
permanent place at the side of that noble monument
to his renown.
The Whole French Laisguoge is the title of a new
manual of education on the Robertsonian system
of teaching modern languages, edited by Louis
ERNST. The author of this system is Professor
Ron T5ON, a celebrated teacher in Paris, who
has obtained a European reputation by the excel-
lence of his method and the success of his instruc-
tions. It claims to combine the most valuable
features in the systems of Manesca, Ollendorff
Hamilton, and the older grammatical authorities,
while it is free from the defects which diminish the
pr~ etical utility of those methods. The text on
which the volume is founded, is an original and
attractive narrative, presenting all the peculiar
idioms of the French 1an~uage, together with ~ 118 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
complete vocabulary of the words most commonly ment. Ills fine nsthetic sense reveals to him the
occurring in familiar discourse. The principles 11- manifold forms of beauty and grandeur which have
lustrated in this portion of the work are impressed been overgrown with the moss of ages, and even
on the mind of the pupil by constant repetition In from the arid records of scholastic controversy he
a series of judicious exercises; and the second part educes fresh proofs of the dignity and worth of the
is devoted to a more profound analysis of the lan- human intellect. In regard to the disputed points
guage, explaining, in a collection of clear and sim- of modern German theology, his own views bear
pie rules, all the difficulties of French grammar an~ the stamp of moderation. He has no sympathy
syntax. Professor Robertsons method is strictly with zealots or fanatics of any school. Nor does
progressive. The pupil is led on, by easy and al- he fraternize with the skeptical philosophers who
most unconscious steps, from the rudiments of the subject the positive truths of religion to such a de-
grammar to the most complicated forms of the lan- structive analysis that they are deprived of their
(rune. T system combines thoroughness force ~~ devout,
~ ,, he great vital ~ eminently
with remarkable perspicuity. No one can master trustful, believing. it is true, he regards religion
its details, without making such proficiency in the in the light of a natural sentiment, rather than of
French language as to enable him to enjoy the a logical d uction; but he never obtrudes his own
classical productions of its literature, and with the opinions upon the historical student. The work
necessary practice, to speak French with correct- now presented to the American public covers the
ness and facility. The volume now issued is equal- whole ground of ecclesiastical history, from the
ly adapted for the purposes of self-instruction, and original establishment of the Church to the latest
for the use of classes under the direction of a com- developments of current date. The translators
petent teacher. We do not hesitate to recommend have performed their difficult and laborious task
it to the notice of all who are interested in the ad- with great fidelity. We perceive little to censure
vancement of education, believing that its substan- in point of correctness; perhaps, indeed, they have
tial merits nih bear the test of a scrutinizing ex- aimed to produce a too literal version; and a more
amination. (Published by Roe Lockwood and thorough melting down of the original into purely
Son.) idiomatic forms, would have relieved the appear-
The I/lost Eminent Orators and Statesmen of An- ance of stiffness and formality which must often
cient and Modern Times, by DAVID A. HARSIJA. annoy the fastidious reader.
(Published by Charles Scrihner.) The only repre- Sermons of the Rev. ichabod S. Spencer, D.D.,
sentatives of ancient oratory commemorated in this with a Memoir of his Life, by tile Rev. G. M.
volume are Demosthenes and Cicero. Of British SHERWOOD. (Published hy M. W. Dodd.) The
statesmen we have Lord Chatham, Burke, Sheri- late Dr. Spencer was a model of devotedness, piety,
dan, Pitt, Brougham, and others; while Patrick zeal, and success in the pastoral office. Abstain~
Henry, Fisher Ames, Clay, Calhoun, Webster, and lag from every attempt to court popularity, be ex-
Everett are brought forward as examples of Amer- erted a weighty and wholesome influence upon a
ican eloquence. The plan of the work includes wide circle of society. Of a certain granitic texture
critical and biographical sketches of the eminent of character, he was emphatically a man to wear
men who fibure in its pages, with large extracts well. Grave, deliberate, earnest, impressive, he
from timeir best orations and speeches. Comments made a permanent mark wherever his presence
are also made on the characteristic traits of each was felt. In time ordmnary sense of the term, he
orator, aiming at a complete analysis and exposi- was not a man of learninghe cherished no scho-
tion of his peculiar style of eloquence. The re- lastic tasteshe had no element of the book-worm
muarks of the author on the native statesmenof in his whole compositionno desire for literary
wimose oratory he gives several choice specimens distinction~ but he was well versed in the writings
are in time main discriminating, but sometimes too of a few masterly theologians, he was mighty in
lmighiy colored by enthusiastic admiration. his the Scriptures, he was a shrewd observer of char-
notice of Edward Everett is in an eulogistic strain, acter, and, with his intense zeal for usefulness in
but does no more than justice to the merits of that his vocation, these advantages gave him an em-
admirable scholar, and refined, classical orator. It inent success, which was scarcely surpassed by that
is, perhaps, the best tribute to the modest great- of his most distinguished contemporarmes. As a
ness of Mr. Everett that has yet appeared in print, preacher, he was remarkable for the copiousness
including several critical sketches previously made and weight of Imis matter, rather than for any
by other hands. The volume is embellished with graces or attractions of manner. He was wholly
a well-engraved portrait of Daniel Webster, fur- free from affectationalways simplealways him-
nishing a natural representation of his majestic self. his originality of mind prevented him from
features. being the servile copyist of othersprevented him
A History of the Christiems Church, by Doctor even from following the beaten tracks in his exposi-
CIIARLEs HAsE, translated from the German by tion of familiar truths. He presented old subjects in
CHARLES E. BLUMENTHAL and CONWAy P. WING. new aspects. Not that line had any love of innova-
(Published by D. Appleton and Co.) Ilase is dis- tion; from this he was singularly free. He had
tinguished amon, German writers on ecclesiastical even a personal abhorrence of novelties, either in
history for his freshness and geniality. To him, opinion or practice; he adhered rigidly to the an-
the past is not merely a collection of insignificant dent standards of faith: but every topic which
details and mueagre incidents, but the scene of vital he discussed took its form and coloring from his
and glowing activity. With pious reverence he own mind, giving a perpetual freshness and ani-
wipes the dust from the hoary annals of antiquity, mation to the themes of his pulpit discourse. The
and strives to reproduce them in their original memoir in this volume presents a luminous and
brightness. I-In regards the development of the deeply-interesting view of mis life and character.
Church, not merely in its theological and dogmatic It is written in a tone of affectionate admiration,
aspects, but as connected with the secular history but without fulsome panegyric. In the orderly
of the times and the progress of general enlighten- arrangement of its topics, and time equable flow of LITERARY NOTICES. 119
its narrative, it exhibits some of the best and rarest
qualities of biographical composition. The ser-
mons, which have been selected from the volumin-
ous manuscripts of the deceased, fully illustrate
the characteristics alluded to above. They unfold
the leading facts of Christian history, and the prin-
ciples of Christian doctrine in a great variety of
phases; and if not models of sacred eloquence, are
superior specimens of homiletic instruction.
Surgical Reports, and Miscellaneous Papers on
Medical Subjects, by GEORGE HAYWARD, M.D.
(Published by Phillips, Sampson, and Co.) A ju-
dicious collection of original essays by an eminent
medical man of Boston. It exhibits the moderation
of view, freedom from exclusive theories, scholar-
like culture, sagacious discrimination, and chaste
decorum of style, which characterize a large por-
tion of the medical literature proceeding from the
capital of New England. The papers on Annsthetic
Agents, the Diseases of a Literary Life, Legalizing
Anatomy, and several others, possess something
more than a professional interest.
Redfield has published an edition, in two vol-
umes, of The ODoherty Papers, by the late WILL-
edited by the veteran literary
LAM MAGINY,
mouser, Dr. SHELTON MACKENZIE. Maginn was
a jovial, reckless, obstreporous varlet, brimful of
fun and frolic, with mischief oozing out at every
pore; unscrupulous in his satire, brilliant in in-
vective, with erudition that might grace a univers-
ity, and a passion for genial liquors worthy of a
pot-house. Many of his most sparkling effusions
are devoted to the praises of wine and gin-twist.
Habitual topers, who are deprived of their favor-
ite beverages by anti-liquor legislatures, may here
satiate their thirsty appetites by the imagination
of a feast. Certainly no such seductive champion
of Bacchus has appeared in these latter days.
Dr. Shelton Mackenzie has done his part to a
charm. If any fault is to be found with him, it is
that of sometimes being too lavish of information on
points concerning which most readers may be safely
supposed to have learned the alphabet. His fancy
takes fire at every suggestion of an interesting
name or a curious incident, and he discharges his
enthusiasm with a rattling volley of chronological,
biographical, and bibliographical lore. In all mat-
ters of scandal, too, he is perfectly at home, and
often enriches the spice-islands of the original
by highly-flavored anecdotes and innuendoes of his
own. As a work of amusement, the merits of this
collection are palpable, but it would be indiscreet
to commend warmly its moral tone.
Le (an Jfaaqai, by EUGENE DE COURCILLON
(published by harper and Brothers), combines the
attractions of a novel and a book of travels. In
the form of a simple autobiographical story, it pre-
sents a vivid portraiture of the modes of life and
thought and the social and religious customs of the
great body of the French people. It aims to give
a faithful and striking delineation of the manners
of the rural districts of France, similar to tIme
sketches by foreign tourists of the great metropo-
lis. In following out his plan, the author is led to
describe minutely the ceremonies of the Catholic
Church, as they are observed among a compara-
tively ignorant and unsophisticated people, who
cling to many old usages that have come down to
them from time immemorial, and who retain their
faith in much that has been discarded by the more
enlightened classes of the French population. The
narrative is marked by the utmost frankness and
simplicity; a vein of dry humor enlivens many of
the sketches of character; while the incidents re-
lated, though fictitious in their grouping, bear all
the marks of reality. As an illustration of domes-
tic life, social features, and mental development,
under the influence of the Catholic religion, the
volume will reward the attention of every intelli-
gent reader.
The Old Inn; or, the Travelers Entertainment,
by JOSIAH BARNES, Sen. (Published by J. C.
Derby.) A series of travelers stories, purporting
to have been related around the fireside of a coun-
try hostelry in Vermont, into which the company
had been driven by stress of weather. They indi-
cate a writer of more than the ordinary calibre,
though he takes refuge for concealment under the
shelter of a pseudonym. He need not be ashamed
to show his hand or the pen which he wields with
decided effect. His stories are well told, free from
commonplace, couched in a nervous and impressive
style, though in some cases carrying the tragic
element to excess.
The Wondemfel Adventures of captain Priest, by
the author of A Stray Yankee in Texas. (Pub-
lished by Reddeld.) Jewels and pearls of native
humor fall facilely from the pen of this merry
writer. He even brings to light an assortment of
fresh puns, which will rejoice the ears of many in
the prevailing dearth of good things in that line.
Ticknor and Fields have reprinted WILLIAM
Howrrrs Bogs Adventures in the Wilds of Aus-
tralia, a delightful volume, describing the curious
and picturesque features of Australian life, in the
animated style characteristic of the author. The
work was written on the spot, andis evidently tIme
fruit of personal experience. Every lover of nat-
ural description will find it a captivating volume.
Harper and Brothers have issued a new Book-
List, comprising the titles of their publications in
the various branches of literature and science, a
classified table of contents, and copious literary and
bibliographical notices, prepared, to a considerable
extent, for this edition. Apart from its utility as
a manual for the book-purchaser, it may be deem-
ed worthy of attention as presenting a brief com-
mentary on many of the most important productions
of the current literature.
Harper and Brothers have in press and will pub-
lish, from advance sheets, the following works:
Moredun: a Tale of 1210. This is the novel
attributed to Sir WALTER Scorr, the romantic
account of the discovery of wlmich in manuscript,
at Paris, excited so much attention a short time
since. The proprietor still maintains that it is a
genuine production of the author of Waverleg.
The heiress of Haughton, by Mrs. MARSH.
The first two volumes of JAMES SILK BUCKING-
11AM s amusing and garrulous Autobiographg.
The Biographg of Sgdneg Smith, by his daughter,
Lady HoLm~ANn.Antobiography is apparently
again becoming the fashion of the day in England.
It has always been the rage in France. It is re-
ported that LOCKHART (Sir Walter Scotts biogra-
pher and son-in-law) has left a copious Memoir of
Imis own Life and Literary Times, which will speed-
ily be publishmed. ROGERS, the very Nestor of
living poets, is said to have prepared his Personal
and Literary Recollections, which will appear
speedily after his decease. Miss MARTINEAU is
engaged, at the intervals of ease from imitense bod-
ily suffering, upon her autobiography.TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, or thereabouts,
worthy Master Samuel Clarke sometbne Pas-
tor of Saint Bennet-Frink, London took it in hand
to set forth a true and faithful Account of the four
chiefest Plantations of the English in America.~~
How he toiled to gather the few scattered materials
then accessible, and how he carried his manuscript
around from printer to printer before he could find
one bold enough to undertake the risk of publishing
it to the world, must remain forever unknown.
Successful, however, he at last was, and his work,
a thin quarto volume of not quite a hundred pages,
printed in London, in 1670, for Robert Clavel,
Thomas Passenger, William Cadmus, William
Whitwood, Thomas Sawbridge, and William Birch
lies before us, in all the quaint orthography and
typography of the time.
The four chiefest Plantations described are
Virginia, New England, Bermudas, and Barbados.
Virginia, we are informed, is bounded on the east
by the great ocean, on the south by Florida, on the
north by Nova Francia, while toward the west its
limits are unknown. A very respectable planta-
tion truly, as far as extent is concerned, and a
land very inviting to emigrants, since the Soil is
generally lusty and rich, and the Country gener-
ally bath such pleasant plain Hills and fertile Val-
leys, one prettily crossing another, and watered
so conveniently with sweet Brooks and chrystal
Streams as if Artists had devised them. The
Tempreture of the air, we are moreover assured,
after they were well seasoned agreed well with
the constitutions of the English ; for though the
Summer was as hot as in Spain, and the Winter as
cold as in France or England, a cool Briess com-
monly aswages the vehemency of the heat.
The Indians, of course, find little favor in the
eyes of the good preacher, though his account of
them is quite as impartial as could have been ex-
pected from a divine of those strenuous days, when
speaking of Heathens and Salvages. They were
great and well proportioned men, looking like gi-
ants to the new-corners, with Language well
seeming their proportion, sounding from them as
it were a great Voice in a Vault. Some measure-
ments are added to confirm this statement: One
of the biggest of them had the calf of his Legg
measured, which was three-quarters of a yard about,
and all the rest of his limbs answerable thereto.
His arrows exceeded by a full fourth part the lenbth
of the famous clothyard shafts of the English arch-
ers. A picturesque figure must have been pre-
sented by these sons of Anak, attired as they were
in the skins of Bears and Wolves. One of them
had a Wolves-head hanging in a Chain for a
Jewel; his Tobacco-pipe was three-quarters of a
yard long, prettily carved with a Bird, a Bear, a
Dear, being at the end sufficient to beat out a mans
brains. Besides these spoils of the chase some of
them have Mantles made of Turkey Feathers, so
handsomely wrought, and Woven with Thred that
nothing could be discerned but Feathers. These
were exceeding neat and warm. Tbis bravery,
however, belonged only to the chiefs and great
men, the common sort, even as in civilized com-
munities, having scarce wherewith to cover their
nakedness. Some of their ornaments displayed a
questionable taste; as for instance, In each Ear
commonly they have three holes, whereat they
hang Chains, Bracelets, or Copper, a fashion not
wholly gone into disuse in civilized communities,
especially among the fairer sex. But what follows
is somewhat more objectionable: Some of their
men wear in these holes a small green and yellow
coloured Snake, near half a yard long, which crawl-
ing and wrapping herself about his neck familiarly
kisses his lips: others wear a dead Rat, tied by the
tail. Among the pleasant articles of their head-
dresses are enumerated the wing of a bird, the tail
of a rattlesnake, the skin of a hawk, stuffed, with
outstretched wings, and the hand of an enemy dried.
The worthy Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink was not
far wrong in saying that He is most gallant that
is most monstrous to behold.
The moral character of these truculent Salv-
ages is described very fairly. They are incon-
stant, crafty, timerous, quick of apprehension, and
very ingenious. They are soon angry, and so
malicious that they seldom forget an injury. They
are very strong, of able bodies and nimble. They
can lie in the Woods under a Tree by tbe Fire in
the Coldest Weather, and amongst the Grass and
Weeds in Summer. They are very covetous of
Copper, Beads, and such trash, But notwith-
standing this covetous disposition our author ac-
knowledges that they seldom steal from one an-
other ; yet to this praise he makes a saving reser-
vation that their abstinence from theft arises from
fear lest their Connivers (or sorcerers) should re-
veal it.
The women find much more favor than the men
in the eyes of our historian. They are careful to
avoid suspicion of Dishonesty without the leave of
their Husbands. They love their children very
dearly, and, to make them hardy, in the coldest
Mornings they wash them in the Rivers, and by
Painting and Ointments they so tan their Skins
that in a year or two no Weather will hurt them.
The men are lazy fellows compelling the women to
do all the work, making, Mats, Baskets, Pots,
Morters, besides the proper household labors, bear-
ing their Hunting Houses after them, with Corn,
Acorns, Morters, Bagg and Baggage which they
use. Very useful to these lazy hunters and war-
riors are their wives, and it is no wonder that, when
they come to the hunting grounds, every man
endeavours to shew his best Dexterity; for thereby
they get their wives.
The Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink, as befitted
his sacred calling is very severe upon the priests
of these Indians. They are, he says, a Genera-
tion of Vipers, even of Satans own brood ; and
quotes a letter from Mr. Alex. Whitaker, who
was a Minister to the Colony, who describes their
priests as being none other but such as our English
Witches are; living naked in body, as if the shame
of their sin deserved no covering. They esteem it
a virtue to lie deceive and steal, as their Master
the Devil teacheth them. The priests, if the de-
scription given of them is accurate, must have pre-
sented a figure any thing but attractive. Their
faces, we are told, are painted as ugly as they
can devise, and they carry Rattles in their hands.
They have a Chief Priest, differenced from the in-
ferior by the Ornaments of his head, which are
twelve. Sixteen or more Snake-skins,, stuffed with
Moss, the Skins of Weesels and other Vermin; all
which they tye by the Tails, so as the tails meet

Editor's TableEditor's Table120-123

TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO, or thereabouts,
worthy Master Samuel Clarke sometbne Pas-
tor of Saint Bennet-Frink, London took it in hand
to set forth a true and faithful Account of the four
chiefest Plantations of the English in America.~~
How he toiled to gather the few scattered materials
then accessible, and how he carried his manuscript
around from printer to printer before he could find
one bold enough to undertake the risk of publishing
it to the world, must remain forever unknown.
Successful, however, he at last was, and his work,
a thin quarto volume of not quite a hundred pages,
printed in London, in 1670, for Robert Clavel,
Thomas Passenger, William Cadmus, William
Whitwood, Thomas Sawbridge, and William Birch
lies before us, in all the quaint orthography and
typography of the time.
The four chiefest Plantations described are
Virginia, New England, Bermudas, and Barbados.
Virginia, we are informed, is bounded on the east
by the great ocean, on the south by Florida, on the
north by Nova Francia, while toward the west its
limits are unknown. A very respectable planta-
tion truly, as far as extent is concerned, and a
land very inviting to emigrants, since the Soil is
generally lusty and rich, and the Country gener-
ally bath such pleasant plain Hills and fertile Val-
leys, one prettily crossing another, and watered
so conveniently with sweet Brooks and chrystal
Streams as if Artists had devised them. The
Tempreture of the air, we are moreover assured,
after they were well seasoned agreed well with
the constitutions of the English ; for though the
Summer was as hot as in Spain, and the Winter as
cold as in France or England, a cool Briess com-
monly aswages the vehemency of the heat.
The Indians, of course, find little favor in the
eyes of the good preacher, though his account of
them is quite as impartial as could have been ex-
pected from a divine of those strenuous days, when
speaking of Heathens and Salvages. They were
great and well proportioned men, looking like gi-
ants to the new-corners, with Language well
seeming their proportion, sounding from them as
it were a great Voice in a Vault. Some measure-
ments are added to confirm this statement: One
of the biggest of them had the calf of his Legg
measured, which was three-quarters of a yard about,
and all the rest of his limbs answerable thereto.
His arrows exceeded by a full fourth part the lenbth
of the famous clothyard shafts of the English arch-
ers. A picturesque figure must have been pre-
sented by these sons of Anak, attired as they were
in the skins of Bears and Wolves. One of them
had a Wolves-head hanging in a Chain for a
Jewel; his Tobacco-pipe was three-quarters of a
yard long, prettily carved with a Bird, a Bear, a
Dear, being at the end sufficient to beat out a mans
brains. Besides these spoils of the chase some of
them have Mantles made of Turkey Feathers, so
handsomely wrought, and Woven with Thred that
nothing could be discerned but Feathers. These
were exceeding neat and warm. Tbis bravery,
however, belonged only to the chiefs and great
men, the common sort, even as in civilized com-
munities, having scarce wherewith to cover their
nakedness. Some of their ornaments displayed a
questionable taste; as for instance, In each Ear
commonly they have three holes, whereat they
hang Chains, Bracelets, or Copper, a fashion not
wholly gone into disuse in civilized communities,
especially among the fairer sex. But what follows
is somewhat more objectionable: Some of their
men wear in these holes a small green and yellow
coloured Snake, near half a yard long, which crawl-
ing and wrapping herself about his neck familiarly
kisses his lips: others wear a dead Rat, tied by the
tail. Among the pleasant articles of their head-
dresses are enumerated the wing of a bird, the tail
of a rattlesnake, the skin of a hawk, stuffed, with
outstretched wings, and the hand of an enemy dried.
The worthy Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink was not
far wrong in saying that He is most gallant that
is most monstrous to behold.
The moral character of these truculent Salv-
ages is described very fairly. They are incon-
stant, crafty, timerous, quick of apprehension, and
very ingenious. They are soon angry, and so
malicious that they seldom forget an injury. They
are very strong, of able bodies and nimble. They
can lie in the Woods under a Tree by tbe Fire in
the Coldest Weather, and amongst the Grass and
Weeds in Summer. They are very covetous of
Copper, Beads, and such trash, But notwith-
standing this covetous disposition our author ac-
knowledges that they seldom steal from one an-
other ; yet to this praise he makes a saving reser-
vation that their abstinence from theft arises from
fear lest their Connivers (or sorcerers) should re-
veal it.
The women find much more favor than the men
in the eyes of our historian. They are careful to
avoid suspicion of Dishonesty without the leave of
their Husbands. They love their children very
dearly, and, to make them hardy, in the coldest
Mornings they wash them in the Rivers, and by
Painting and Ointments they so tan their Skins
that in a year or two no Weather will hurt them.
The men are lazy fellows compelling the women to
do all the work, making, Mats, Baskets, Pots,
Morters, besides the proper household labors, bear-
ing their Hunting Houses after them, with Corn,
Acorns, Morters, Bagg and Baggage which they
use. Very useful to these lazy hunters and war-
riors are their wives, and it is no wonder that, when
they come to the hunting grounds, every man
endeavours to shew his best Dexterity; for thereby
they get their wives.
The Minister of Saint Bennet-Frink, as befitted
his sacred calling is very severe upon the priests
of these Indians. They are, he says, a Genera-
tion of Vipers, even of Satans own brood ; and
quotes a letter from Mr. Alex. Whitaker, who
was a Minister to the Colony, who describes their
priests as being none other but such as our English
Witches are; living naked in body, as if the shame
of their sin deserved no covering. They esteem it
a virtue to lie deceive and steal, as their Master
the Devil teacheth them. The priests, if the de-
scription given of them is accurate, must have pre-
sented a figure any thing but attractive. Their
faces, we are told, are painted as ugly as they
can devise, and they carry Rattles in their hands.
They have a Chief Priest, differenced from the in-
ferior by the Ornaments of his head, which are
twelve. Sixteen or more Snake-skins,, stuffed with
Moss, the Skins of Weesels and other Vermin; all
which they tye by the Tails, so as the tails meet EDITORS TABLE. 121
on the top of their heads like a Tassel, ahout which
a Crown of Feathers; the skins hang down ahout
him and almost cover his face. Perhaps, after
all, our author, sturdy Protestant as he was, thought
he was giving the finishing touch to his picture of
their wickedness when descrihing their manner
of life as heing much like that of the Popish
Hermits, alone in the woods sequestered from the
common course of men.
But though they are represented as standing in
great awe of their priests, whose teachings are so
abonsinable, our author affirms that the Indians
honour and ohey their Kings, Parents, and Gov-
ernors, and ohserve the limits of their own Posses-
sions. Murther is rarely heard of, and Adultery
and other gross offences are severely punished.
These apparent discrepancies, the worthy clergy-
man takes no pains to reconcile.
The warlike customs of the Indians, as here nar-
rated are singular enough. Wars are rarely waged
for lands or goods, hut for women and children.
l,l,Then the two hostile hodies are ready for action,
they take their stands at a distance apart of a
musket shot ranged in ranks fifteen ahreast. Then
ensues a curious scene. Messengers are sent from
each party with these conditions: That whoso-
ever is vanquished, upon their suhmission within
two days after shall live; hut their wives and chil-
dren shall he prize for the conqueror. This pre-
liminary amicahly settled, they approach in order,
with a Sergeant on each Flank, and in the Reer
a Lieutenant, all duly keeping their places, yet
leaping and singing as they go. The battle he-
gins with a discharge of arrows. After these are
spent they joyn together, charging and retiring,
each rank seconding the former. As they get ad-
vantage they catch the Enemy by the hair of his
head, and then down he goes, and with his Wooden
Sword he heats out his brains.
The Indian monarch called Powhattan from
the place of his habitation is represented as keep-
ing up no small state. In every part of his do-
minions, some of which he acquired hy conquest,
while some came to him by inheritance, he has a
spacious residence. A guard of forty or fifty war-
riors attended upon him; every night upon the
four quarters of his House doth stand four Senti-
nels, and every half hour one from the Corps de
gerde doth hollow, unto which each of the sentinels
doth answer. If any fail he is extremely heaten.
At the corners of his residence stand as sentinels
four imagesa dragon, a hear, a leopard, and a
gigantic human figure, all ilifavoredly made, ac-
cording to their best workmanship. His will is
absolute law, and at his frown the hravest among
them will tremhle. Offenders he causeth to he
boyled to death, or their Brains to he heaten out
with Cudgels, for which yet they will never cry
nor complain. The law of descent is singular, the
kingly power descending not to the sons of the
monarch, hut to his brothers, and these failing to
his sisters. The king is unrestricted as to the num-
ber of his wives, one of whom sits at the head of
his bed, the other at the foot; and one of them
hrings a bowl of water to wash his hands hefore
and after meals; while another waits with a hunch
of feathersa very uncomfortable substitute for a
napkin.
Justice has hardly been done to the efforts made
at an early period to civilize and christianize the
aborigines of Virginia. Among the donations for
that purpose, our author mentions two hundred
pounds given by l~Iiss Mary Robinson towards
building a church, a donation of five hundred
pounds, sent to the treasurer by an unknown indi-
vidual for the bringing up of some of the Infidels
children in the knowledge of God and the true Re-
ligion, and in Trades whereby they may live hon-
estly in the World. Mr. Nicholas Ferrar gave
tlsree hundredpounds to the College in Virginia,
to be paid when there should he ten of the Infidels
children placed in it; and in the mean time 241.
per annum to be distributed unto three discreet and
Godly mcii in the Colony who should bring up
three of the Infidels children in the Christian Re-
ligion and in some good course to live by. The
East India Company gave seventy pound, eight
shillings, sixpence, towards the huildin, of a
Free Schoole to which sum various donations
from private sources were added. And an un-
known person gave thirty pound, for which there
was to be allowed fourty shillings a year forever
for a Sermon Preached before the Virginia Com-
pany. When was the last time that this perpet-
ual service was celebrated, and where is the Vir-
ginia Company that was to be edified thereby for-
evermore?
But, thus our good Minister of Saint Bennet-
Frink, concludes his account of the Plantation of
Virginia, notwithstanding all the Courtesies and
Kind Usage by the English to them, anno Christi
1621, the treacherous Natives most Perfidiously and
Treacherously murthered above three hundred of
them, and would have done the like to all the rest,
but that God (through his infinite Goodness and
Mercy) moved the heart of one of them who was
Converted to Christianity, to Discover the same a
few hours before it was put in E~ecution.
The Plantation of New England, we are told,
is judged to be either an Island surrounded on
the north with the great River Canada, and on
the south with the Hudsons River, or a Peninsula,
these two Rivers overlapping one another, having
their rise from two great Lakes, which are not far
distant from each other. The harbors are New
Plimouth, Cape Ann, Salem, and larvil-Head, all
which afford good ground for Anchorage, being
Land-lockt from Winds and Seas.
The country is painted in rose-color. The air is
seldom obscured with mists and fogs; the soil is a
warm kind of earth, and though the cold is some-
times great, yet the good store of wood makes the
winter any thing but tedious. And besides ssei-
ther doth the pinching cold of Winter produce so
many ill effects as the raw Winters here with us in
En,land. The country is excellently watered
and there are store of springs which yield sweet
water that is fatter than ours, and of a more jetty
color, and they that drink it are as healthy and
lusty as those that drink Beer. As for the salu-
brity of the climate, we are told that, Men and
Women keep their natural complexions, in so
much as Seamen wonder when they arrive in these
parts to see their Countrynsen look so Fresh and
Ruddy. As for our common diseases they be
strangers in New England. Few ever have the
Small Pox, Measels, Green-sickness, Headache,
Stone, Consumption, etc.; yea, many that have
carried Coughs and Consumption thither have
been perfectly cured of them. This last assertion
sounds strangely to us, to whom this fearful disease
stands as the one asalady which more than any
other sweeps away our best and loveliest.
Good Master Clarke finds plain prose quite in- 122 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
adequate to set forth the animal and vegetable
productions of this favored Plantation, and there-
fore invokes, with no inconsiderable success, the
Heroic Muse. He thus describes the trees of New
England:
Trees beth on Hills and Plains in plenty be,
The long-liv Gake and mournful Cypress Tree,
Sky-towring Pines, and Chesnuts coated rough
The lasting Cedar, with the Walnut tough,
The Rosin-dropping Fir for Masts in use;
The Boatmen seek for Oars light neat-grown Spruce,
The brittle Ashe, the ever trembling Aspes,
The broad-spread Elme, whose concave harbors Waspes,
The watry spungy Alder, good for nought,
Small Elder by the Indian Fletcher sought,
The knotty Maple, pallid Birch, Hawthorns,
The Horn-bound Tree that to be cloven scorns,
Which from the tender Vine oft takes its speuse,
Who twines embracing arms about his boughs.
Nor are the forests anywise destitute of trees
bearing fruit, as well as those of goodly stature
and fair foliage. For
Within this Indian Orchard Fruits be some,
The ruddy Cherry and the jetty Plumb,
Snake-murthering Hasel with sweet S xifrabe,
Whose sprouts in Beer allays hot Feavers rage,
The diars Shumack, with more Trees there he,
That are both good for use and rare to see.
The vines, he goes on to say, in sober prose,
afford great store of Grapes, very bigg, both
Grapes and clusters, sweet and good. Doubtless
as good wine might be made of them as at Bour-
deaux in France. The Cherries, he acknowl-
edges, if not very ripe, are not so good as those
in Old England, though they grow in clusters like
grapes. But the White Thorn yields Hawes, as
big as our Cherries, which are pleasant to the
taste.
Our Authors Natural History is somewhat
apocryphal. The beasts, he says, be as fol-
loweth:
The Kingly Lion and the eteong-armd Bear,
The large-limbed Moosis with the tripping Lear;
Quill-darting Porcupines and Rockames be
Castled in the hollow of an aged Tree:
The skipping Squirrel, Cony, purblind Hare
Immured in the selfsarne Castle are,
Lest red-eyed Ferrets, wiley Foxes, should
Them undermine, if rampered but with mould,
The grim-faced Ounce, and ravenous howling Woolf
Whose meager paunch sucks like a ravuous gulf
Black-gittering Otters and rich coated Bever
The Civet-scented Muscat, smelling ever.
Then by way of comment and explanation, we
are furnished with the additional information that,
Lions there be some, but seen rarely. Bears are
common, which be most fierce in Strawberry time,
when they have young ones; they will go upright
like a man, climb trees, and swim to the Islands.
During these marine exp3ditions an exhibition
takes place which must have been well worth
witnessing. At which time if an Indian see him,
lie will swim after him, and overtaking him they
go to Water-cuffs for bloody noses and scratched
sides; at last the man prevails, gets on his back,
and so rides him on these Watry plains, till the
Bear can bear him no longer.
We are furnished with divers scraps of informa-
tion in respect to the animals of the country, some
of which are quaintly enough expressed. Thus:
In the Winter the Bears retire to the Cliffs of
Rocks and thick Swamps, to shelter them from the
Cold, where they live by sleeping and sucking
their Paws, and with that they will be as fat as
they are in Summer. The Dear keep near to
the Sea, that they may swim to the Islands when
they are chased by the Woolves. They have com-
monly three young ones at a time, which they hide
a mile from each other, giving them suck by turns;
and this they do, that if the Woolf should find one
they may save the other. In speaking of tho
porcupine our autllor of course relates the story,
which is believed by many even to this day, that
he stands upon his Guard against man or beast,
darting his quills into their Leggs or Hides if they
approach too near him. In treating of the wolf,
he incidentally mentions a fact which naturalists
have apparently wholly overlooked, that they
have no Joynts from the Head to the Tail. The
Ounce or wild Cat which is as big as a Mungrel,
and by nature fierce and dangerous, fearing neither
Dogg or Man, in addition to his skill in destroy-
ing deer, catches geese in a way worthy of notice:
He places himself close by the water, holding up
his bob tail, which is like a Gooses neck, which
the Geese approaching nigh to visit, with a sudden
jerk he apprehends his desired meat.
A half score or so of very tolerable couplets are
devoted to the New England birds. Among them
are,
The princely Eagle and the soaring hawk,
Within their unknown wayes theres none can chawk;
The Ilumbird for some Queens rich Cage more lit
Than in the vacant wilderness to sit;
The swift-winged Swallow, sweeping to and fro
As swift as arrow from Tartarean bow.
When as Auroras infant day new springs,
There the mounting Lark her sweet layes sings.
The drowale Madge that leaves her day-loved nest
To fly abroad when day-birds are at rest;
The Silver Swan that tunes her mournful breath
To sing the Birg of her approaching Death.
There Widgins, Sheidrakes, and Humilitee,
Suites, Droppe, Sea-Larks in whole millions flee.
Touching the bird, named in the last couplet,
called Humilitee or Simplicitee, the author tells
the marvelous story that they settle themselves
close together, so that sometimes above twelve
score have been killed at two shoots. The poor
ill-shaped loon who sweals his harsh notes, is
represented as being unable either to go or fly,
and as having a voice like a sowgelders horn.
At the close of his poetical catalogue of fishes,
of which there are great store and much variety,
the good parson takes occasion to animadvert upon
the slothfulness of the Indians, who force their
Squaws
To dive for cockles, and to dig for clams,
With which her lazy husbands guts she crams.
Besides this clam-digging, the poor squaws are
forced to dive over head and ears for a Lobster
which often shakes them by the hands with a churl-
ish nip, and so bids them adieu. Nor is their caso
much altered whether they are successful or not;
for if their fishing has prospered they must trudg
home two or three miles with a hundred weight of
Lobsters on their backs, which done they must
dress it, cook it, dish it, and present it, and see it
eaten before their faces; and their soggerships
having filled their paunches, the poor Wives must
scramble for their scraps. On the other hand, if
they have caught nothing, they have a hundred
scouls from their churlish Husbands, and an hungry
belly for two days after.
Still, the general character given to the Indians
of New England is not unfavorablethough with
a difference. The Churchers, for example, are a EDITORS EASY CHAIR 123
cruel, bloody people, which were wont to come
down upon their poor neighbors, bruitishly spoyl-
ing their Corn, hurning their Houses, slaying their
Men, ravishing the Women; yea, sometimes eating
a man one part after another whilst he was alive.
They live upon Fruits, Herbs, and Roots; but what
they most desire is Mans flesh. Truculent-look-
ing savages are they, tall of stature, with long vis-
ages, nnd massive limbs, and with a Fillip of their
finger they will kill a Dogg. But bold as they
are, they dare not meddle with a white faced man
accompanied with his hot-mouthed weapon.The
Taranteens are little less savage, only they eat
not mans flesh. They are reckoned as the most
potent of the enemies of the English, being supplied
with fire-arms by the French. Still with rare can-
dor they are described as wise, high spirited,
constant in friend ship one to another, true in their
promises, and more industrious than most others.
The Pequants are a stately warlike people, just in
their dealings, requiters of Courtesies, and affable
to the English. Best of all, perhaps, are the Nar-
ragansets curious Minters of Wampampeag,
which they fashion from shells, and ingenious in
the manufacture of bracelets, pipes, and stone pots.
They seek rather to grow rich by industry than
famous by deeds of chivalry. The general char-
acter of the abori,, ines is thus summed up: They
are of an affable, courteous, and well disposed na-
ture, ready to communicate the best of their wealth
to the ood one of another; and the less abundance
they have, the more conspicuous is their love. He
that receives but a bit of bread from an English
hand gives part of it to his Comrades, and they
eat it together lovingly. Yea, a friend can coin-
mand a friends house, and whatsoever is his (saving
his Wife), and have it freely; and nothing sooner
disjoins them than ingratitude, accounting an un-
grateful person a double Robber, not only of a mans
curtesie but of his thanks, which he might have
from some another for the same proffered and re-
ceived kindness. Toward time poor overwrought
squaws, our good parson is very tender. In spite
of tIme severe treatment they receive, and the toils
they undergo(maternity itself affording them no
respite, for a big belly hinders no business, nor
doth their child-birth binder much time) their
carria~e is very civil, smiles being the greatest
grace of their mirth, and their mild carriage and
obedience to their husbands very commendable.
Notwithstanding all their churlishness and salvage
inhumanity towards them, yet will they not frown
nor offer to word it with their Lords but are con-
tentedly quiet with their helpless condition esteem-
ing it to be the Womans portion.
Alas, poor Squaws, the doctrine of Womans
Rights had never been proclaimed to them. Yet
their contentment with their lot would seem to have
been somewhat disturbed by beholding the kind-
ness and deference with which the English treated
their wives; and they were wont to visit the set-
tlers and bewail their unhappy condition. The
husbands grew irate with the English women for
rendering their wives discontented, and would oc-
casionally visit their houses and make a disturb-
ance on this account. But the good Puritan dames
worthy to have been the mothers of our Revolu-
tionary fatherswere not to be intimidated; for
they take themselves to their Arms, which are
the warlike Ladle and the Scaldin~ Liquor, threat-
ning blistering to the naked Runaway who is soon
driven back by such hot comminations.
But we must bid farewell to the honest minister
of St. Bennet-Frink. Of his quaint old volume
perhaps the only copy extant in the Plantations
of which he treats is the one now before us. How
little could he dream, when he laboriously gather-
ed up his scanty information, of the mighty State
into which these feeble settlements would grow.
The few plantations which dared scarcely lose sight
of the blue waters of tIme Chesapeake and Boston
Bay, have sent forth their sturdy sons, whose axes
have conquered the forests of a Continent. The
unknown West is their inheritance. Nova Francia
is no longer Gallic, and the Plantations of the
English have ceased to own the supremacy of the
crown. The Indians so powerful and dreaded have
past away forevermore, and the fond anticipation
with which he closes, has not been fulfilled, that
as the Lord has given a blessing to the Gospel
among the Indians, notwithstanding the many
obstructions to its progress, even so it may well
be believed that there is a seed of the Gospel scat-
tered among them, which will grow into a Harvest
in Gods time. Christianity has indeed triumph-
ed, but its followers have not been the red men,
who once peopled the continent.
But vain as were his imaginings, and mistaken
as were many of his notions, it is not without ad-
vantage for us to look back and see how the coun-
try which is now ours looked, in the dim distance,
to those whose eye was turned hither two hundred
years ago.
~ituf ii d~4t~t~ ~jnir.
m lIE new broom not only sweeps clean, but
I promises to continue doing so. Our new Mayor
has made himself a national name. He has come
to be regarded as one of the institutions of the coun-
try. Yi~or and intelligence have given him a
prestige which seems sufficient of itself to secure
the execution of laws. His name is familiarly
known in Maine and Florida. There are even ru-
mors of impassioned letters from lovely Western
belles. On the whole, was there ever before a man
who earned such universal applause fordoing his
duty? As we renard it from our Chair, the enthu-
siasm and commendation are a caustic satire upon
public morals and manners. If a primary school
should decree a solid silver medal or a large-paper
copy of Sandford and Merton, bound in gilt calf,
to the boy who had not told a lie, what an inference
of chronic lying in that school would instantly and
justly be drawn. Mayor Wood is justly praised.
lie has shown himself quite worthy his very diffi-
cult position. And yet, when we remember that
his daily ovation is occasioned by nothing but
doing his duty, it must give us serious thoughts
about the moral condition of this American me-
tropolis.
Just now we are in the first days of the new law.
The matter, so far as we can gather from the gossip
around our Chair, seems to be very plain. The
Legislature has passed a law. The representatives
of the majority of the people of the State have
decided to try a new method of suppressing the
traffic in ardent spirits, and the consequences flow-
lag from it. Mayor Wood is an officer executive
of that law, and his official duty, whatever his de-
sires and convictions may be, is clear enough.
During the last few years we have heard more,
perhaps, than for many years before, of the neces

Editor's Easy ChairEditor's Easy Chair123-133

EDITORS EASY CHAIR 123
cruel, bloody people, which were wont to come
down upon their poor neighbors, bruitishly spoyl-
ing their Corn, hurning their Houses, slaying their
Men, ravishing the Women; yea, sometimes eating
a man one part after another whilst he was alive.
They live upon Fruits, Herbs, and Roots; but what
they most desire is Mans flesh. Truculent-look-
ing savages are they, tall of stature, with long vis-
ages, nnd massive limbs, and with a Fillip of their
finger they will kill a Dogg. But bold as they
are, they dare not meddle with a white faced man
accompanied with his hot-mouthed weapon.The
Taranteens are little less savage, only they eat
not mans flesh. They are reckoned as the most
potent of the enemies of the English, being supplied
with fire-arms by the French. Still with rare can-
dor they are described as wise, high spirited,
constant in friend ship one to another, true in their
promises, and more industrious than most others.
The Pequants are a stately warlike people, just in
their dealings, requiters of Courtesies, and affable
to the English. Best of all, perhaps, are the Nar-
ragansets curious Minters of Wampampeag,
which they fashion from shells, and ingenious in
the manufacture of bracelets, pipes, and stone pots.
They seek rather to grow rich by industry than
famous by deeds of chivalry. The general char-
acter of the abori,, ines is thus summed up: They
are of an affable, courteous, and well disposed na-
ture, ready to communicate the best of their wealth
to the ood one of another; and the less abundance
they have, the more conspicuous is their love. He
that receives but a bit of bread from an English
hand gives part of it to his Comrades, and they
eat it together lovingly. Yea, a friend can coin-
mand a friends house, and whatsoever is his (saving
his Wife), and have it freely; and nothing sooner
disjoins them than ingratitude, accounting an un-
grateful person a double Robber, not only of a mans
curtesie but of his thanks, which he might have
from some another for the same proffered and re-
ceived kindness. Toward time poor overwrought
squaws, our good parson is very tender. In spite
of tIme severe treatment they receive, and the toils
they undergo(maternity itself affording them no
respite, for a big belly hinders no business, nor
doth their child-birth binder much time) their
carria~e is very civil, smiles being the greatest
grace of their mirth, and their mild carriage and
obedience to their husbands very commendable.
Notwithstanding all their churlishness and salvage
inhumanity towards them, yet will they not frown
nor offer to word it with their Lords but are con-
tentedly quiet with their helpless condition esteem-
ing it to be the Womans portion.
Alas, poor Squaws, the doctrine of Womans
Rights had never been proclaimed to them. Yet
their contentment with their lot would seem to have
been somewhat disturbed by beholding the kind-
ness and deference with which the English treated
their wives; and they were wont to visit the set-
tlers and bewail their unhappy condition. The
husbands grew irate with the English women for
rendering their wives discontented, and would oc-
casionally visit their houses and make a disturb-
ance on this account. But the good Puritan dames
worthy to have been the mothers of our Revolu-
tionary fatherswere not to be intimidated; for
they take themselves to their Arms, which are
the warlike Ladle and the Scaldin~ Liquor, threat-
ning blistering to the naked Runaway who is soon
driven back by such hot comminations.
But we must bid farewell to the honest minister
of St. Bennet-Frink. Of his quaint old volume
perhaps the only copy extant in the Plantations
of which he treats is the one now before us. How
little could he dream, when he laboriously gather-
ed up his scanty information, of the mighty State
into which these feeble settlements would grow.
The few plantations which dared scarcely lose sight
of the blue waters of tIme Chesapeake and Boston
Bay, have sent forth their sturdy sons, whose axes
have conquered the forests of a Continent. The
unknown West is their inheritance. Nova Francia
is no longer Gallic, and the Plantations of the
English have ceased to own the supremacy of the
crown. The Indians so powerful and dreaded have
past away forevermore, and the fond anticipation
with which he closes, has not been fulfilled, that
as the Lord has given a blessing to the Gospel
among the Indians, notwithstanding the many
obstructions to its progress, even so it may well
be believed that there is a seed of the Gospel scat-
tered among them, which will grow into a Harvest
in Gods time. Christianity has indeed triumph-
ed, but its followers have not been the red men,
who once peopled the continent.
But vain as were his imaginings, and mistaken
as were many of his notions, it is not without ad-
vantage for us to look back and see how the coun-
try which is now ours looked, in the dim distance,
to those whose eye was turned hither two hundred
years ago.
~ituf ii d~4t~t~ ~jnir.
m lIE new broom not only sweeps clean, but
I promises to continue doing so. Our new Mayor
has made himself a national name. He has come
to be regarded as one of the institutions of the coun-
try. Yi~or and intelligence have given him a
prestige which seems sufficient of itself to secure
the execution of laws. His name is familiarly
known in Maine and Florida. There are even ru-
mors of impassioned letters from lovely Western
belles. On the whole, was there ever before a man
who earned such universal applause fordoing his
duty? As we renard it from our Chair, the enthu-
siasm and commendation are a caustic satire upon
public morals and manners. If a primary school
should decree a solid silver medal or a large-paper
copy of Sandford and Merton, bound in gilt calf,
to the boy who had not told a lie, what an inference
of chronic lying in that school would instantly and
justly be drawn. Mayor Wood is justly praised.
lie has shown himself quite worthy his very diffi-
cult position. And yet, when we remember that
his daily ovation is occasioned by nothing but
doing his duty, it must give us serious thoughts
about the moral condition of this American me-
tropolis.
Just now we are in the first days of the new law.
The matter, so far as we can gather from the gossip
around our Chair, seems to be very plain. The
Legislature has passed a law. The representatives
of the majority of the people of the State have
decided to try a new method of suppressing the
traffic in ardent spirits, and the consequences flow-
lag from it. Mayor Wood is an officer executive
of that law, and his official duty, whatever his de-
sires and convictions may be, is clear enough.
During the last few years we have heard more,
perhaps, than for many years before, of the neces 124 HARPERS NIEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
sity of obeying laws. We shall see, therefore, a uni-
versal rallying to the support of the new one. We
look for a large and impressive meeting at Castle
Garden, to declare that the city of NewYork is a law-
abiding (whatever that may mean) city. We shall
expect to hear great statesmen solemnly charging a
docile people to conquer their prejudices. In a
country whose laws express the average moral
sentiment, we shall anticipate a hearty concurrence
iu all measures which aim at the public well-being.
We, looking from our Easy Chair, shall expect
to behold all this, because, in the first place, the
law has the same authority with every law that
protects our lives and property; and, in the second
place, because it aims, however imperfectly, at the
reduction of that mass of misery out of which
springs annually such a dreadful crop of crime and
poverty. Society has certainly the right to pro-
tect itself, and Christianity enjoins the duty of
helping our brother. And, at any rate, whether
we chance to like this particular law or not let us
give it a fair chance. It has, at least, no moral
outrage about it. Its tendencies are all to peace,
order, and harmony. It is a law which, if it does
us no good, can not do us harm. Besides, if we
moderate people should wish to make a stand
against what we may rather eloquently denounce
as a sumptuary law, and should ever be inclined to
throw down this Chair as a barricade, there stands
this dreadful Mayor Wood, bound to preserve the
peace, with a proclamation in his hand, and reso-
ution in .his eye, and four mouths of remarkable
government behind him, and requests us, gently
and gravely, to do no such thing. On the whole,
shall we fling a rung of the Chair at his head? Or,
considering those four months, should we rather
get the worst of it? Every citizen must be glad,
for the sake of the law, and for the sake of the
Mayors reputation, that the two come together;
that it falls to the lot of Mr. Wood to foster the
new bantling of reform; for though he may not be
directly charged with the execution of the law, he
is with the quiet and order of the town. The law
will be tried, and the Mayor will be tried.
As these heavy blows descend upon the gracious
blood of the vinethat most ancient,~and honored,
and poetic bloodwe can not but remember the old
legend of the fall of Pan and the Greek deities in
Palestine eighteen hundred and fifty-five years ago.
They were so lovely, so dear. They were so en-
twined in imagination and memory with poetic
association. They had been so graceful and genial
a part of life; the woods were sweeter for the Fauns
piping, and more alluring for the flitting nymphs
that faded; the sea was social with the Tritons
blowing shells, and the Nereids with delusive eyes;
the solitary tree in the meadow was not a lithe tree
only, but a hamadryad gliding against the sky;
no stream murmured in the fields that did not
tempt the wanderer with the fate of Hylas. They
fled, they faded:
The lenely mountains oer,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament
From haunted hill and dale,
Edgdd with poplar pale,
The parting genius is with sighing rent.
Even the most austere of Christian poets could
thus touch his loftiest stop in elegy for that other
world departed. The German Schiller, too, and
Mrs. Barrett Browning, the most religious of fe-
male singers, have remembered with a song and a
tear the tender magic of that old mythology. Shall
we not sigh, then, over the breaking of the goblet
which is so wrought into poetry and history? May
we not drop a tear into that ruby flood which is
flowing so fast away? Perhaps some sensitive
German poet, as he strolls on these lovely spring
mornings along the vineyarded banks of the
Rhine, hears so sad a rustle in the leaves that he
pauses to listen, and perceives that those festal
ranks thrill without a breeze, and as if by some in-
ward sorrow. Our friends, Mr. Neal Dow and Mr.
Horace Greeley, and their compeers, mustnotforget,
in their hour of triumphat which we do not cavil,
and to which Mayor Wood is going to take care
that we submitthat the splendid associations of
the vine are precisely as much matters of fact as its
squalid associations. Literature will still owe to
its remembrance an inspiration which it may, or
may not, have drawn from the vine itself~ and the
most cold-watery of poets may hereafter offer that
homage to wine which the Christian bards bring to
the pagan mythology.
Great Pan is deadand if we follow his bier
we will fling our flowers upon it, and recall the days
of his splendor; and although Mayor Wood is
such as we hope all mayors will always be, he can
not summon us for that offense, and happily for us,
poetry and the indulgence of sentiment are not yet
indictable.
THE coming of Summer, the budding of trees,
the singing of birds, and all the blithe pomp of
June remind us of what we can never long for-
get, that New York has as yet none of those
charming rural retreats, in its very heart and em-
brace, which atone to those who can not escape
into the real country, for the absence of trees, cows,
and green fields.
It is not hard for a reasonable man to lose his
temper as he surveys our politics and policies, un-
less haply, he sit in this Easy Chair, which soothes
him from all tumults, and calms his nerves. But
when you consider that old Gunnybags calls him-
self a public-spirited citizen, and that his native
city professes to be the metropolis of America, it
is not difficult to laugh at his pretenses when you
remember that the poorer classes of his fellow-citi-
z.ens have not half the public healthy chances of
recreation which are afforded to them in the other
great cities of the world; and when you farther re-
flect that projects which aim to benefit every body
are paralyzed by petty political and personal in-
triguethat jealousy, spite, and meanness control
public movements so that the intelligent and hu-
mane recoil, disgusted, from the contact of politics,
why, you very naturally ask whether a republican
government proposes to do nothing for the people
but protect the ballot-box and secure the right of
voting to every citizen.
Gunnybags says, in his lofty way, that in this
country the people are the government; therefore,
if you blame the goverumnent, you are ommly attack-
ing the people.
This is, theoretically and ostensibly, true enough;
but, before Mayor Wood, has tIme city of New York
been recently governed by or for the people?
Old Gunnybags knows perfectly well that the peo-
plo have had very little to do with it, and that a
knot of lobbying politicians have managed the
whole matter. He may retort, with a jin~ling
emphmasis of heavy watch-keys, that it amounts to
the same thing, because the mass of the self-gov EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 125
erning people are never much better nor worse than
their laws. Then the more the pity that we are
lost to the sense of what we owe ourselves. If it
is true that we are essentially no better than the
mismanagement of affairs around us, let us prolong
Lent, and sit down, repentant, in the ashes.
Young Kid pooh-poohs at a Public Park. He
says it would be given up to rowdies and bhoys;
that there would have to be a special police to keep
it in order; that nobody (of the great family of
Somebody) would ever go there; it would be a bad
Battery; a second-rate Park; a poor Washington
Parade; a race-course, and a pickpockets prom-
enade.
It is an agreeable picture that young Kid thus
paints. But as you gaze, you do inevitably ask
yourself, Ought I to pity so sorely the poor on-
vriers of Europe, for whomVersailles, and Fontaine-
bleau, and Windsor Forest, and the Prater, and the
Cascine, and the Bois de Boulogne, and the Thier-
garten, are freely opened, and one day of rest, sun-
shine, and recreation secured, if my own country-
man, the free and independent American citizen,
can not behave himself well enough in public to
justify the laying out of a promenade or park ?
If he can not, it is surely high time that he was
taught how to do it; and as it is hard to teach boys
how to swim before they go into the water, so is it
hard to accustom a population to respect public
placesgardens and galleries, for instanceuntil
they can have a chance to visit them. We are
perpetually insulting ourselves, and tamely sub-
mitting to the insult.
The truth is, that if there be a Public Park, it
is not of the greatest consequence whether Nobody
(of the great family of Somebody) goes there or
not. A Park is not for those who can go to the
country, but for those who can not. It is a civic
Newport, and Berkshire, and White Hills. It is
fresh air for those who can not go to the sea-side;
and green leaves, and silence, and the singing of
birds, for those who can not fly to the mountains.
It is a fountain of health for the whole city. It
keeps all the air sweeter; and it is a siren whose
alluring music it is life, and not death, to fol-
low.
Now that a great many noisy, riotous fellows
would go there, dear Kid, is perfectly true. But
so would a great many sober, pleasant, and re-
spectable citizens. Shall we consider the rowdy
more than the respectable? Shall our wives and
children not have a breathing-place on Sundays
and holidays, because that absurd son of our neigh-
bors would swagger along, with his unmanly
swearing and ridiculous bullying and bravado?
Will he smoke, and bully, and swear any the less
if there is no Park? Or is the immense majority
of the population so rowdy that there is no hope
of the success of decency over debauchery, and it
would be dangerous to give them a rendezvous?
Have they not one now? Is not the Third Avenue,
is not the Bloomingdale Road such a place? Are
not all decent poople kept away by the howling,
the fast-driving, the recklessness of life upon those
thoroughfares? A Park will not increase this; it
will abate it.
And even Nobody (of the Somebodies) would
soon learn good habits. There are a good many
of the Nobodies, and they would like very well to
have a proper promenade. Where can Nobody
drive in his carriage for pleasure now? Of all omr
cities New York is especially fitted for a Park, be-
Vor.. XI.No. 61.I
cause it has no available environs. It will be
Park or no promenade.
It would be a curious political problem, to be
treated historically and with reference to human
progress, whether measures of popular benefit were
inure easily carried in a Republic than in any other
country. And we beg any free and independent
American citizen, who thinks that freedom is un-
bounded and willful license, and independence in-
decency, to remember that an American has duties
as well as privileges; of which duties he does not
hear a great deal upon the Fourth of July. And
one of those duties is a noble self-respect; and an-
other of them is a humane respect for other men;
and another is the remembrance of the fact that
Governments are for the welfare of the governed;
and another is, the remembrance of that other facts
that if he has a right to make a noise in the hotel-
room which he pays for, and to fling his boots
about the corridor, and to slam his doorso has
his neighbor an equal right te his rest, and sleep,
and quiet, in the hotel-room, which he pays for.
That reminds us that we received, the other day,
an indignant reply to a letter of our ardent friend
who made a Western tour in the winter, and gave
us some of the details of his impressions. The
point of the letter was towering rage, that an~
man should pretend to call himself an American,
and make such a fuss about the little things of
life. Now, if we correctly recall the letter of our
friend, it was a protest against the assumption that
every disagreeable action was American merely
because an American happened to do it in Amer-
ica. Unhealthy dinners, and a swinish way of
eating them; bad manners and intolerable selfish-
ness, in general, were not to be accounted pecul-
iarly Americancontended our correspondent. If
our new friend doesnt agree with him, this Easy
Chair most certainly does agree. ~Ve are tired of
having every thin~ boorish, and coarse, and un-
feeling, called American. If an American citizen
and we follow our winters correspondentcan
not be well-mannered, if he can not conduct him-
self with Christian charity toward his neighbor, if
he can not eat a decent dinner decently; why, the;
we prefer to be a decent man and a Christian and
we will sail away in our Easy Chair for the lost
Atlantis.
BUT if we sailed upon any such voyage we might
meet Rachel coming to us. For we learn from
Kid, who has been sitting for a month in the front
row of the parquette surveyin,, Vestvali, whose
frame is apparently unconscious that it is a wo-
mans, that Rachel is really coming. Those pierc-
ing, weary, sad eyes are to transtix us all. We
are to see the greatest tragic actress since Mrs.
Siddons; and a woman of more penetrating and
subtle power than she. Mrs. Siddons was a Muse.
She was grandiose, like Melpomene. Sir Joshua
Reynoldss sumptuous picture of her, in the Mar-
quis of Westminsters Gallery, has a certain gran-
deur which no other actress, except perhaps Pasta,
has ever approached. But Rachel is an Afrite a
Lamia. Lehmans portrait of her is a miracle. It
is mannered, and French, and artificial; but it
represents the essential impression that Rachel a!-
ways produces. Mrs. Jameson, in her recently-
published Commonplace hook, says that she was
always reminded by Rachel of the old Greek le-
gend of the Lamia, upon which Keats founded his
poem. The justice of this impression is found in 126 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
its universality. No man of sensitive tempera-
ment could ever have seen much of this great act-
ress, and not have experienced the unpleasant con-
sciousness that there was something snake-like and
mystic in her beauty and movement. He would
hardly have been startled, had she drooped into a
serpent and glided away.
The characteristic of Rachels power is a tragical
intensity which is piercing. She is like a flame.
This intensity pervades every thing. It is in the
low, concentrated tone of her voice; in the folds
of her exquisite drapery; in the form of her feat-
ures and her face; in the dreadful despair of her
eyes, closely set together; in the general sense of
smallness in person and feature, which is so far
from insignificant that it seems an integral part of
her peculiarity. Her face expresses a weary deso-
lation, so that the spectator finds himself painfully
curious to know what fearful experienco can ever
have shown such young eyes a sadness so deep
that those eyes can not again escape it, but must
forever reveal by their mournfulness the sorrow
they have seen. All the lights of her acting are
lurid. The gloom of fate is her element; and
hence arises her singular adaptation to the repre-
sentation of the old Greek drama. It is, indeed,
in Racines paraphrase of the Greek story that she
appears. But Rachel passes through Racine to
the Greeks; and it is not a Frenchman presenting
Racines idea of Phedre that we behold, but the su-
perb victim of an inexplicable Fate. You step out
of the glittering corridors of the Palais Royal flash-
ing with France of to-day, and, as your eyes fall
upon Rachel, you are in the Greece of legendary
ages, in the dim twilight anterior to history.
Rachels effect upon her audience is no less re-
markable than her peculiar genius. It is a tri-
umph of the imperial power of passion. There is
no distraction; no conversation; no divided inter-
eat. On her great nights in Phedre, women faint
in the boxes, and a supernatural silence reigns in
the house. It is an influence not to be resisted.
It is like the fascination of her eye, rather terrible
than beautiful. She appeals to emotions so pro-
found and primeval that you scarcely knew you
had them: you tho ht they belonged to Greek
history and forgotten times.
Yet when we say that your interest is so strong-
ly excited to know how such a woman has suffered
what she has seenwhat her personal and in-
dividual career iswe have indirectly implied the
fact that her acting is art, the perfection of art.
She does not seem so much mastered by the char-
acter she represents as to identify herself with it;
but she rather masters it, and holds herself supe-
rior. It is as if her own experience taught her
the tragedy of Phedre, or whatever other ride she
fills, and she uses the woe of Phedre only as the
costume of her own. Hence her acting is never
monotonous nor imitative, but always vital. She
does not act Thisbe, for instance, in Victor Hugos
Angelo, as if she supposed that under such cir-
cumstances, such a woman would act in such a
way. But she throws Thisbe as a robe upon
Rachels form, and she covers Rachels face with
the mask of Thisbe; but it is always Rachels
might, and grace, and pathos that make the dead
bones of Thisbe live.
In this sense Rachel is the greatest of artists.
It is always Rachel that you have seen, whatever
has been the play, just as it is always Raphael and
Michael Angelo that we mention whatever may
be the particular picture or statue we have seen.
Mrs. Siddons is half-confounded in our minds with
Lady Macbeth. But the greatest genius stamps
its individuality upon all its works. In all hu-
man performance of the highest kind there is a
distinctive character which is always to be recog-
nized. This character takes its name from the
artist, and we have Shakspearian, and Miltonic,
and Michael Angelesque, and Raphaelesque. We
know Mozart when we have once really heard him,
whether it be in Spain with Don Giovanni, or in
Rome with the clement Titus. It is usual to say
that an actor, to be truly great, must be lost in his
part. But it is just the wrong statement of the
case. The part must be lost in the actor: other-
wise there was never a true dramatic triumph. If
an audience were so transported that they believed
the stage-villain to be a villain; if it ceased to he
art and became to them as nature, the scene would
be intolerable. Would you pay money for the in-
tellectual exhilaration of seeing a desolate, imbe-
cile, deserted old man whose daughters spurn him?
Could you see the lovely lady murdered by the
Moor before your very eyes? The fact that we
sit and cry in the boxes, instead of rushing upon
the stage and plucking the fond fool from his crime,
shows that we are not deceived. It is not Othello
that we believe we see, it is l{ean who shows what
jealousy could do. We should not have any very
high respect for an actors genius who was so iden-
tified with his part that we could not recognize the
man himself; and yet that is the legitimate tri-
umph of the usual view of genuine dramatic art.
That was, indeed, the old Greek idea; for they
submitted the actor entirely to the part, and act-
ually concealed him behind a mask. But acting,
as a fine art, was quite unknown, so far as we
know, to the Greeks. Their theatre, in its aim
and means, was entirely distinct from ours.
If, as Kid says, Rachel is really coming, we
must all begin to rub up our French. She can not
use any other language effectively, and she must
be surrounded with men who speak it as fluently
as she. Rachel is the one institution which allows
no botching. She is all or nothing. We could
hear Jenny Lind in concerts, and not sigh too
deeply for the opera. But Rachel out of the French
is Jenny Lind silent. You may infer her genius
and her power, but you do not see it nor feel it.
It will be impossible for her to make the triumphal
progresses of the singers, because the intelligence
of the French language is not widely diffused in
our beloved country. She could have ovations in
the cities, in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Bal-
timore, Washington, and the South; and our trop-
ical New Orleans friends could be frantic, and have
good reason for their frenzy. But, elsewhere and
on the whole, it would be a very limited career,
and a very partial success.
So we shall say to her, if hurrying over seas
in our Easy Chair, we chance to meet the lovely
Lamia.
THERE is no doubt that our cities are very hand-
some, many of them. But there is equally no
doubt that there is one kind of ornament of which
they are perfectly susceptible, and which we should
all be glad to see; and especially in a Republic,
where the citizen is the chief and honorable man,
it is a kind of apotheosis which is most appropri-
ate. All the great cities of ancient and modern
times have decorated themselves with statues of EDITORS EASY CHAIR 127
their great men. Let us confess, at once, that there
are a great many poor ones; a grtat many had
statues of bad men. Let us also confess that every
kind of human performance is liable to abuse. But
statues of public menof heroes, divines, states-
men, artists, inventors, aud saints of all kinds
are a kind of visible history. It is sometimes a
satirical history, as when in small German capi-
tals of small German States large bronze statues
of small German great men are exposed in the
public squares. The spectator observes an image
of His Benign Transparency Dumkopf XXIII.;
and he infers the state of the century, or the half
or quarter of a century, from the representative
statue. In this sly way popular homage becomes
chastened; and in a country where benign trans-
parent Dumkopfs can not erect statues to them-
selves, with a show of public consent, no man will
be likely to achieve bronze or marble immortality
until the public good sense has decreed that he
has been a power in the State.
The arcade of the Uffizi Gallery in Florence is
one of the shrines of Europe. It is thronged with
the statues of famous Florentines. They have a
peculiar significance now, for they stand reproach-
ing, with their remembered greatness, the Florence
that has no famous men. They are like royal
ghosts that haunt the palace-chamber, and mdi,,-
nantly plead by their presence for the return of a
race of kings. This was Florence, they seem
to say, as the moonlight gives them shadowy life
nnd motion. This was what makes the name of
Florence historical and poetic. Except for us the
name had perished upon the lips that pronounce it,
like San Marino and Algiers. Indeed, a gallery
of statues is the nations~ancestral gallery. Great
citizens are not family possessions; nor can their
fame, more than their influence, be appropriated.
They belong to the State. Washington, Hamil-
ton, Jefferson, Otis, Franklin, Ada msthey are our
common national ancestry. This Easy Chair is
as proud of each of them as any descendant of theirs
can be. And the spur and stimulus, the deep vow
and high resolve, which animate the boy who wan-
ders along the gallery of his ancestral portraits,
and feels that he holds not only his own fair name
in his keeping, but is responsible to the long line
of brave men and lovely women, that their fame
shall not be tarnished: this the citizen feels as be
surveys the public gallery of national genius.
It is an agreeable sign of the times that we are
beginning to recognize this truth, and to avail our-
selves of this benefit. Already Powers has made
a statue of Calhoun for South Carolina and of
Starke, we believe, for New Hampshire. Craw-
ford is busy upon the great Jefferson statue, which
will secure the fame of the sculptor while it so
worthily commemorates that of the statesman;
Horatio Greenoughs Washington is one of the
great works of American art; Brown has exe-
cuted Dewitt Clinton; William Story has com-
pleted the statue of his father, the famous Jurist;
and Richard Greenough has just finished the model
of his fignre of Franklin, which is to be cast in
bronze at Chicopee and erected in Boston. We
learn, also, that four other statues of four other
great Massachusetts men have been commissioned,
to be placed in the cemetery of Mount Auburn, near
Boston. It would certainly be better to place them
in the city itself than in a graveyard, which neces-
sarily invests them with a certain gloom. But
that they are to be made at all is a triumph.
Mr. Richard Greenougls, who has just finished
the clay model of his Franklin, is a younger brother
of Horatio Greenough, and inherits all the genius
of his brother. The statue of Franklin resulted
from a resolution of several eminent Bostonians
that so illustrious a son of their city should not
longer silently reproach his native streets with the
want of any adequate public monument of his life
and services. There were conversations and meet-
ings, and finally a subscription immediately filled
up, and a commission to Mr. Greenough.
The work is singularly successful. It is larger
than life, and represents Franklin pausing for a
moment, leaning upon his cane, with his cocked
hat under his arm. The head is a little thrown
forward, as in the common bust. The expression
of the face is that of mingled benignity and shrewd-
nesstl~ best possible type of the Yankee charac..
ter. The costume is rigorously accurate, and is
extremely effective and picturesque. The natural
ease and repose of the composition are remarkable.
It is so very good that there is nothing to be said;
nor do we think there can be any question that it
is the best portrait-statue yet executed in America.
It is to he exposed publicly in some conspicuous
place, and will be the first bronze statue, we be-
lieve, yet erected in Boston. It would be certain-
ly a worthy work if every State should commission
one of its native sculptors (since we are most afflu-
ent in that department of art) to make the statue
of one or more of its leading historical characters.
In Rhode I land we doubt if there is yet any me-
morial-oven so much as a grave-stoneto Roger
Williams; and yet no State is more tenacious of a
great mans fame, nor more sacredly reveres it.
Art is an instinct of nature. As the religious sen-
timent seeks to invest the worship of the Supreme
Being with all the variety and splendor of archi-
tecture and painting and music, and as the passion
of love compels the whole world to yield its gems
and flowers to decorate its homage to its idol; so
does Mae instinct of national filial reverence natu-
rally demand an expression of itself in the produc-
tion of statues and portraits by which the human
aspect of the object of its feeling may become uni-
versally familiar. We shall he glad to learn of
any other movements in this directionmovements
so honorable to the State, and so advantageous to
Art and Artists.
POLITICS lie beyond our Easy Chair. In fact,
no chair could hope to continue easy for a long
time in which politicians sat, or from which poli-
tics were discussed. Yet from our seat we survey
the whole field of national interest, not exclusively
political, nor exclusively social, nor moral, nor lit-
erary. The rise and progress and decline of great
organizations affect us little. We see the venera-
ble Whig and Democratic parties apparently some-
what uncertain of their position and bearings, and
we see the shadow of the mysterious Sam. But
there is one thing that no banded order can affect.
We may know-nothing of foreigners in many ways,
but we can not escape the charm and the power of
intellectual sympathy. American hearts thrilfto
the touch of English feeling. American minds
own the magic of every genius. There are certs{n
sorrows and regrets, as well as joys and trium~m~hs,
which are matters of race, as they are also national.
No law can make a great man or a noble yoman a
foreigner. They have the freedom o a imes and
countries as their special birth-right and dower. 128 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
We must all congratulate ourselves that so much
of what is best is beyond the necessity and the
scope of political arrangement. There is a kind
of upper chamber where we are all peers, of what-
ever country we may chance to be. No man has
precedence of Jonathan in his admiration and ap-
preciation of the great past and contemporary
classics. Dickenss humor is for all the world.
The sad eye of Thackeray fixes itself upon a sham
Persian or Hottentot as it does upon the snob.
Have we not a tear for Charlotte Bronte? Shall
that short, sad, solitary life end so soonshall the
promise and hope of noble and earnest books per-
ish suddenly and foreverand we fling no flower
upon the grave? Who has read Jane Eyre? who
has not? and shall that eye be closed and we not
feel the darkness?
Among the female writers of a time sd affluent
in works of female genius, Charlotte Bronte was
in England at least, the most eminent and power-
ful. Her only peer in many points was Mrs.
Gaskell, the author of Mary Barton, Ruth,
Cranford, and North and South. But their
genius was very different; and they were peers
without being rivals. Among the swarm of En-
glish authoresses, the Mrs. Gores, and Mrs. Marsh-
es, and Julia Kavanaghs, and Miss Yonges, and all
the other leaders of the circulating libraries, the
position of the author of Jane Eyre was like that
of Thackeray or Dickens among the Ainsworths
and Buiwers. She had the great merit of intro-
ducing real life into ber books simultaneously with
Mr. Thackeray; nor is it surprising that she should
have been almost the first person who adequately
recognized the great power of that author. Miss
Brontes heroines are neither headless nor heart-
less, like most of the dramatis persoan of modern
novels. They are figures who have stepped out
of modern homes, out of contemporary history,
into her gallery. And they are discriminated so
delicately and well, that they become parts of ex-
perience, and her hooks are known, as great fic-
tions always are, by the powerful characterization,
and not by a nameless sweetness which is pleasant
to the taste, and leaves no nourishment.
In the day of the apotheosis of second-rate nov-
els, which aim at the satisfaction of a shallow sen-
timentality, or an equally shallowmoral sentiment-
alism, books so nervous, so earnest, so persuasive
and pathetic as Jane Ryre, Shirley, and Vii-
lette came like a bracing sea air through a sciroc-
co. There is yet to be written a profound state-
ment of the influence and value of the reign of the
female novelists. In this country there is nothing
more readily and universally grasped and con-
sumed than the last novel. It is an instinct deep
as any other, and the best genius of every time
has dealt in forms of fiction. But when the una-
voidable influence of literature is considered, when
von remember for a moment that all the young
girls can not devote the leisure of their girlhood to
reading tales of life, and character, and feeling,
without in some manner confessin~ their power in
their own lives and characters, it will be seen how
remarkable a position the female writers hold; and
every one among them who writes with the inspi-
rati a of a passionate and burning experience, and
with the power of genius and sad perception, will
be ha2jed as a national benefactor.
Ft is from this point of view that Miss Br~tes
fame is so eminent. Jane Evre was, like Van-
ity Fair, the initial work of a now era. It was
the most searching and prodigious novel ever writ-
ten by an Englishwoman. George Sands are not
snore intense, they are more morbid. They were
not such stern and earnestbecause so self-intelli-
gent and so self-possessedprotests. George Sands
were more crude, fiery, and defiant. George Sands
touch is a tongue of flame, licking with fire, and
scorching and scathing. Charlotte Brontes is a
pure and permanent heat that moulded and modi-
fied. It seared less, but it searched longer and
deeper. Many a woman would see how to be bet-
ter after reading Jane Eyre. Many a woman
would feel that she was bad after reading Man-
frat, Lucrezia Floriani, or Leila. Charlotte
Brontes genius seems to us sweeter and stronger;
George Sands more superb and impassioned.
The novels of the sisters Bronte, of whom Char-
lotte was the oldest and most gifted, have another
and unique excellence. They revealed aspects of
English life that were quite unsuspected. They
were, like Balzacs Scenes de in Vie Privie, disclo-
sures of a state of society which made wise men
pause and weak ones shudder; but no man said
they were not true. Dickens had done the same
thing in other directions, Thackeray was doing the
same in still another. The English fiction of the
last fifteen years has a dignity and worth that it
never had before. It has acquired a seriousness,
a depth, an earnest aim which was quite unknown.
It has been touched by the tender humanity of the
time. That mysterious spirit of the age has
laid its finger upon it.
Charlotte Broates life was sad and solitary.
She married toward the close and the name of
Nichol will be carved ispon her tomb-stone. She
lived among the hills of Yorkshire, and stole into
fame suddenly and without prelude. She piped
and sang to the world, and the world answered
and wept. A biography would probably have little
interest, for it is the life which could not be writ-
ten that would most interest. The description
of her little figureher earnest eyeher smooth
brown hair, and her quiet movementpresent the
woman to us as she must have always seemed.
Contrasted with the splendors of Do Stahl, ang
the lurid brilliancy of George Sand, and with all
the flickering, fading gleams of the female novel-
ists, her light shines pure and planetary. It is
by that light that the anxious voyager will head
his bark; it is to that calm power that the litera-
ture of England will long be indebted for a truer
tone, and the lives of Saxon women for a sweet-
er inspiration.
OUR FOREIGN GOSSIP.
Oux eye rests upon the Paris Easter. ,Those
who danced out the Carnival, and the mid-Lent
festival, have put on their black and vails, and
tramped to the Madeleine, to St. Roch, and to St.
Eustache, for the saying of their Lenten prayers,
and they have eaten their Good Fridays pies of
tuany-fish. The bishops, and what-note, of the
French Catholic dispensation have washed the feet
of the twelve apostles (Parisian ones); they have
aided in the chant of the Miserere (a Parisian one);
and the great cavalcade ofLongehamps has brought
in the fashion for spring bonnets.
It is not through inadvertency that we bring so
nearly together the Paris priests and the Paris
millinery; they enjoy the same week of triumph;
Longehamps goes before Good Friday; Lucy
Hocquet precedes the Archbishop; the memory EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 129
U yesterdays white hat and feathers takes ott the
edge from the sorrows of Crucifixion Day.
Have we not a counterpart of the same pretty
jumble at home? Are the fingers of Lawsons
girls busier any day of the year than on the Fri-
day of hot-cross buns? Does Dr. Taylors church
show any time such strange liveliness of colors as
on Easter Sundaycolors wrought out, and bar-
]nonized, and decided upon, in the toils and ca-
prices of Holy Week?
But, for the French women, dress is a part of
religion; it maybe reckoned the grateful bloom of
an otherwise unprofitable life. A ribbon and a
flower at Longchamps, which charms the eye of the
beholder, is a kind of fluttering French prayer of
thanksgiving, to be answered by the boon of a
weeks content. God, in his wisdom, has made
plants which bear no visible fruit, and whose only
service seems to be to hang out a painted blossom
once a year, to please the eye; yet we are grate-
ful, and admire. Let us be grateful tooas we
canfor those among our own species who carry so
jauntily the Easter flowers and feathers, which,
once dropped off show a withered and fruitless
stalk!
We see, or seem to seelooking over seasthe
Empress Eugenie arranging her best toilets to
astonish the Islanders who will throng about her
in Windsor Castle and at Osborne; we see her
nerving her frail constitution for the great and the
new trial of courtly etiquette, where the dignity of
a constitutional and an hereditary Queen will be
contrasted with the air and ease of a graceful sov-
ereign only noble by birth, and made Imperial by
the imperial will of a lover.
The Emperor, too, who one day rode somewhat
lonely, upon his chestnut horse, through the drives
of Hyde Park, scarce noticed by the dignitaries of
the British realm, will very likely take the pride
of a self-made man, in allowing the same digni-
taries to approach him, on his royal visit, with
familiarity. The Emperor is, however, not with-
out a spice of satire in his composition; and it may
well be that, in his present conde ension toward
some of the haughty scions of British noble houses,
he may drop mention of his old stay thereabouts,
and of his great misfortune in failing of their ac-
quaintance.
The story of his answer to Berryer, who begged
to he excused from attendance at the palace, is old
now, and has had its range of the newspaper col-
umns, but it is too good to be dropped altogether
from our monthly mirror of other-side matters.
Every body knows who Berryer isan earnest,
eloquent, proud man; the best type existing of
those old props of Legitimacy who throve under
the Bourbon smiles, and wore endless honors in
their button-holes. He was elected long ago to
the French Academy, and made one of those forty
who wear the highest place it is possible to hold in
the literary regard of France. In February last he
first took his seat with that body of academicians;
and, in virtue of old-established custom, illustrated
his initiation in an hour-long speech.
But even in this, and although in the presence of
a few guests who were of the Imperial household
he did not forget his life-long attachment to the
race of French kings, and spoke an eloquent eulogy
upon the profits and the claims of an hereditary
monarchy. The Princess Mathilde, who had come
to hear the great orator, was of course greatly in-
censed, communicated her indignation to some of
the underlings of State, who immediately gave o~
ders for the suppression of the entire proceedings.
The matter, however, came to the ears oftheEm-
peror, who at once annulled the action of the
censors, intimating at the same time that the opin-
ions of NI. Berryer were curious, but not fearful.
Why should not the eloquent antiquarian speak
out his theory in the quiet chambers of the Acad-
emy?
But this was not all. Every new-coming mem-
ber into the body of Academicians is required, in
virtue of an old established custom, to present
himself at the palace, and pay his respects to the
sovereign.
NI. Berryer wrote a proud note to the Secretary
of the Emperor (an old friend of his), setting forth
his unfortunate position in respect to the existing
dynasty; and, using the third person throughout
his courtly letter, begged that his old friend, the
Secretary, in view of the embarrassments which
might attend his visitas well to others as to him-
selfwould have NI. Berryer excused.
The Secretary returned a prompt reply, regret-
ting sincerely that NI. Berryer should have imag-
ined that he would be looked upon in any other
light than as a deserving literary man, who had
received the compliment of election to the Academy.
He begged to assure NI. Berryer, on the Emperors
part, that his presence at the palace would have
created no embarrassment whatever, and informed
hhn farther, that NI. Berryer was at perfect liberty
either to follow the old custom of the Academy, or
to obey his private inclinations.
The laugh was sadly against the representative
of Legitimacy; and from the fact that the corre-
spondence leaked out in an incredibly shortAime,
there is reason to believe that Napoleon enjoyed
the joke.
A reputation for kprit is worth a great deal in
Francemuch more than honesty.
While speaking of the French Institute, it may
be worth while to make note of another session of
the Academy of Political and Moral Science, in
which, not long ago, NI. Guizot, who is now living
the quiet life of a literary worker, too~c occasion to
introduce the subject of NI. Vattemares Interna-
tional Exchanges, and in tIme coarse of his speech
to give a running comment upon the intellectual
progress of the Americans.
It appears to have been short, but appreciative,
and highly complimentary. NI. Vattemare came
in for a very decided and justly-deserved eulogium,
for his untiring efforts in behalf of literary ex-
changes; and it was proposed to take measures for
the fulfillment and the perpetuity of that great
scheme, which rests now wholly upon the unceas-
ing labor and restless enthusiasm of NI. Vattemare
alone.
We remember that a few years ago that dignified
quarterly, the North American Reviewvery prone
to European alliance in matters of literary opinion
took occasion to express a few sneers at the aims
and successes of Monsieur Vattemare, hasing its
damnatory tone upon the coolness with which that
gentleman had been treated by NI. Guizot, who
was at that time the ruling genius of the French
government. It did not appear to the stately
Quarterly that an individual, unsupported by the
smiles of the existing dynasty, could be engaged
in either a commendable or a promising undertak-
ing. It did not count it worth its while to vul-
garize its character by any helping communion 130 HARPERS 1[EW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
with an adventurer. Perhaps now, when they
learn that a vote of the French Academy, effected
by the counsel and praises of M. Guizot himself; has
stamped the worthiness of the scheme, they may
condescend (the North American editors) to give
it a smile of approvaL
We have once or twice taken occasion to allude
to the American library, which, under the foster-
ing zeal of M. Vattemare, is growing into full pro-
portions in the city of Paris. It is to occupy a fine
hail in the stately H6tel de Ville, and, if report
speaks true, has before this time been thrown open
to the public. A strictly national library will be
something unique in its kind, and we doubt very
much if in any city of America there exists so com-
plete a collection of the political annals of the Gen-
eral Government and of the individual States as
are now grouped together in Paris.
Before the readers eye shall have fallen upon
this page, the tidings of the opening ceremony of
the Great Exhibition will have brought to his
knowledge the weakness of our own share in that
display. We shall not be disappointed in this:
our medal-worthy things, we have often maintain-
ed, are not such as can be sent over ocean, or
housed under any such glazed roof as flames over
the trees of the Champs Elysdes. But we fear
there will be much matter of regret on the old
London score, of a boastful amplitude of space and
very scattered and ill-arranged material. We can
not learn that our commissioners have been named,
saving a few exceptions, with any notion or inquiry
as to their fitness. We can not learn that taste or
sound judgment has been looked for in the Amer-
ican representation. We can not learn that either
States or cities upon our side of the water have
made such provisions, for either artisans or com-
missioners, as would enlist one or the other very
heartily in the rivalry of nations.
Whatever has been done, has been done in a
careless, unsystematized, irresponsible way. Some
States have sent commissioners, and nothing for
exhibition; others have sent merchandise, and no
commissioners. We shall expect to hear of a niag-
nificent array of India-rubber; but will not our
daguerreotypes on this occasion suffer greatly in
comparison with those beautiful photographs which
the French artists are producing?
We have before us now a study of trees from the
forest of Fontaineblean, in which the rigidity of an
old oaken bole is made as true and actual as if we
were this spring day sauntering under its shadow.
There is another view of distance, four miles away.
We seem to look at it from under trees whose leaves
flutter, and the summer air simmers on the paper
over the landscape that lies below. We wish we
were painters, in this time when a man can study
nature in his closet, and steal tree-trunks by whole-
sale, without ever the task of putting his foot to
the sod, or smartine under the bites of the forest
fleas!
We hear of a panoramic view of the whole range
of Mont Blanc, transferred from the mountains
themselves to paper, and now gleaming coldly in
the Crystal Palace of Paris. It is, of course, the
result of several distinct studies, but these have
been so artfully joined together, that it is quite im-
possible to distinguish the line of division; and the
eye reposes with single attention upon the great
group of mountains, with their mellow snowy light
sleeping on themthe jagged cliffs piercing up
dark and sternand in the foreground the green
glaciers, with such a crystallic brightness on them
that their chilliness seems to come to the cheek.
In the province of Art proper, it is to be feared
that the American representation is not imposing, if
it be even just. Aside from all other considera-
tions, we are exposed to unfair comparison. The
French paintings have undergone severe scrutiny
at the hands of the French commission, and we arc
assured that no less than four-fifths of the offering
painters have met with rejection. Unfortunately
for us, we have come in under the strangers priv-
ilege, and all pictures, of whatever character, by
American artists, have bad free admission. And
when it is remembered that we have not a few am-
bitious young students in Paris, emulous of the
French style of coloring, it is greatly to be feared
that we shall show somewhat scurvy material
good enough, perhaps, in way of promise, and good
enough, maybe, as samples of student effort, but
giving a very unflattering impression of the suc-
cesses of American genius in a profession honored
by such men as West and Aiston.
Tuis mention of American art brings to our
mind a little yellow-covered book which has come
to our hand with the last batch of Paris news-
papers. It hears the title of The Other World
(LAutre Monde)not, as some may hastily imag-
ine, the future world of seraphs and cherubim, but
the cross-ocean world of America. It is the pro-
duction of that Marie Fontenay to whom we
took occasion to allude some months hack, as hav-
ing a very keen scent for regents, and a very con-
temptible opinion of American apple-tarts.
She now ventures, in connection with the pseudo-
nyme of Marie Fontenay, another title, to wit,
Madame Manoill de Grandfort. There is, how-
ever, shrewd reason to suspect that this even is a
misnomer, and that the veritable note-taker in our
country was a male adventurer, who, after an un-
prosperous visit to. the Other World, has return-
ed to the more congenial world of French dinners
and grisettes.
We beg to drop a word of parenthesis about the
fashion and the cost of the book before us. It is in
duodecimo form, of some three hundred clearly and
neatly-printed pages, and forms a part of a newly-
issued Librairie Nouvelle, sold (in France) for
one franc the volume.
The company issuing these volumes have caught,
at last, a spark of the American publishing enter-
prise. They state gravely, that a large sale at a
low price, will prove equally profitable, for pub-
lisher and author, as a small sale at a large price!
Entertaining this extraordinary idea, they propose
to issue, in the course of the current year, some two
hundred volumes of old and new literature, at the
uniform price of one franc each, or about twenty
cents.
They commence with an edition often thousand;
some dozen or more have already appeared, among
which we may designate works by Theophile Gnu-
tier, Lamartine, Madame Girardin, Jules Sandean,
and Gerard the lion-killer. The form of the vol-
nines is compact, and they are easily transportable
by mail. Provincial readers will thus be enabled
to order their own books, and publishers and au-
thors will escape the fan,,s of those middle-men,
the booksellers, who have been in the way of ab-
sorbing, this long time, more of the actual profits
than either printer or writer.
It is a worthy scheme; and although its French EDITORS EASY CHAIR. 131
l)roinoters falsely assume the merit of its creation,
we wish them every success.
We return to our pleasant friend, Madame
Mianoel de Grandfort. She (or he) has letters from
New York to New Orleans, where she arrives in
time to witness the hubbub of an election. It
is, she says, a little more or a little less of whis-
ky and of ham which on such occasions decides
the victory. Yet this is the country which people
call the most independent in the world! Boys,
too, of twenty-one, who had no more of intelligence
than of beard, and who blushed before a man like
a young girl, had the effrontery to present them-
selves as candidates for Congress
We fear that Madame de Grandfort was not
treated with the attention which her letters de-
manded.
The elections which she had the misfortune to
witness, she continues to observe, were charac-
terized by the usual number of pistol-shots, and the
victory of the dominant party was signalized only
by a few snore burials the next daynothing
more
The authoress represents herself as visiting the
South, brimful of philanthropy and of a tender
sympathy for the enslaved blacks; but after at-
tendance upon one of their evening balls, and an
even more intimate association with them upon the
plantations, she grows into a sudden change of
opinion. They appear to her to be creatures of
ignoble and repulsive instincts; an error of nature;
en sombre ceprice de Dieu! (We forbear the put-
ting of her blasphemy in English.)
We fear that Madame de Grandfort was as in-
dilThrently treated by the blacks as by the whites.
She is by no means complimentary to the ladies
of the Southwest. French in their mouth, she
says, is rather a jargon than a harmonious lan-
guage. A stranger visiting a country house is the
occasion of a general scampering (sauve qui yeut)
among the ladies of the family. Infinitely more
neglected in their education than those of the city,
their language is frequently no better than the
patois of the negroes. It is, indeed, partly owing
to a consciousness of their ignorance that they
escape the view of strangers. But though they
keep themselves out of sight, they are very fond of
prying from behind doors and curtains; they even
put their ears to the key-hole to overhear conversa-
tion, or, if surprised, they laugh among themselves
stupidly, without saying a word. In short, aside
from their pretty faces, there is nothing about
them attractive
It would appear that Madame de Grandfort was
as little pleased with the ladies into whose com-
pany she fell as with the negroes. Indeed, her as-
sociations seem to have been uniformlyunfortunate,
with the exception of certain agreeable communi-
cations which she entertained with a French gen-
tleman of New Orleans, who had accumulated a
large fortune by peddling pocket-combs, French
trinkets, and false hair, up and down the river,
from a small valise.
She seems to have derived no littleshare of her
information in regard to the better class of South-
western society from this successful merchant. She
eventually, however, tears herself away from the
society of this charming person, and entertains us
with a few sketches along the Mississippi river.
The gambling fraternity, and a steamboat race,
form subjects for her very glowing portraitures.
The captain nuder whom she sails is particularly
distinguished and beloved for having already
blown up four steamers, and successfully scalded
some two or three hundred passengers. He drinks
whisky (the usual beverage of American gentle-
men) without stint, and is a secret party to the
gambling frauds accomplished under his eye.
Madame Grandfort does not recognize in the
banks of the Mississippi the pictures given by M.
Chateaubriand in his American romances; her at-
tention is chiefly occupied by the whisky, the ex-
cessively muddy water, and the cards. Mr. Craw-
ford, a distinguished Florida gambler, accomplishes
the winning of eighteen thousand dollars at a sit-
ting. The lady voyager is further struck by the
barbarous inhumanity of the Americans, and tells
us pathetically how the captain interrupted a
popish ceremony over an Irish emigrant who had
died of cholera, and ordered his summary burial on
shore, by the light of pine-wood torches.
She takes occasion to confute the opinion ad-
vanced by a distinguished American author, Mr.
Benjamin Park, to the effect that Americans treat
the gentler sex with marked deference; she has
seen no evidence of it. We suspect she may have
experienced none; she doubts their capability for
the expression of any polished deference; she re-
gards American manner, generally, as occupying
an ill-formed character, between barbarism and an
inapt imitation of the cultivated nations of Europe.
Madame Grandfort does not venture all her ob-
servations in her own name. She avails herself
of the introduction of an imaginative personage
into her book, under the name of Juliennea
quick-witted, conceited, accomplished young com-
patriot, whose fictitious journal supplies her with
many notes which could not, with propriety, be
credited to a feminine hand.
Madame Grandfort introduces young Julienne
into the society of the Bloomerites in the Kentuck-
ian city of Louisville. The young Frenchman is
astounded by the speeches and by the whisky-
drinking of the Bloomerite ladies; but at length,
after urgence, consents to join in a midnight sup-
per, to which the strong-minded young ladies are
parties.
The accomplished Julienne becomes at once the
cynosure of their admiring eyes; and his French
air, speech, cultivation, and refinement possess
such indescribable power of fascination, that two
Bloomerite victims (the prettiest of the party) fall
wantonly at his French feet, beseeching him to
take pity, and love them. He has compassion on
one (the youngest), and enjoys a midnight stroll
with her upon the banks of the Ohio.
We do not know what the Louisville girls may
say to this, whether of the Bloomer or of the or-
thodox party; but our impression is that Madame
Manoil de Grandfort has over-reckoned the charms
of strolling Frenchmen upon the hearts of Kentucky
ladies; and that his impertinences, if ventured,
would have much more likely met with a tingling
buffet on the ears than with the naming of a mid-
night rendezvous.
At Cincinnati, a town filled principally with
uncouth pork-merchants, Madame Grandfort falls
in with a pugnacious son of a hotel-keeper, who in-
forms her that prize-fighting is regarded by the
Americans as a most worthy institution, develop-
ing the noblest instincts of a true democratic citi-
zen. She attends (in the person of Julienne)
one or two bo~dng-matches, at which the principal
inhabitants of Cincinnati are present; and she 132 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
concludes her observations on this head with a
sympathetic b?wailment of American barbarisms.
We suspect that few American ladies have had
the same opportunity of witnessing cock-fights,
prize-fights, Bloomerite festivals, and gamblin~
orgies, as Madame Manoll de Grandfort. We re-
gard her authority on these subjects as that of a
person entitled to respect.
She does not, however, always write coolly; her
temper often gets the hetter of her judgment. Her
disgust for Yankee failings of all kinds is so great,
that she is betrayed into a great many declamatory
passages which sadly harm her hook as a work of
art. We imagine her to he a thin, middle-aged
lady, unmarried, and of weak digestionwith
whom our Western lime-water did not agree.
In her portraiture of American manners she cer-
tainly out-Trollopes Trollope. She does not reckon
our state as deserving the name of a consolidated
nation; she sees in us only a medley of harum-
scarum gamblers, cut-throats, pork - merchants,
Bloomerites, and eaters of apple-tarts, who hang
together by a kind of magnetic sympathy, but who
will soon split into a thousand fragmentary bodies.
When this catastrophe shall have occurred, she
recognizes some hope of a new and more successful
organizationnot due to any influences emanating
from ourselves, but to those which are foreign
French, and curious!
She takes hope from the fact that an old French
civilization still lingers along the borders of the St.
Lawrence; French manner has, moreover, grafted
itself upon the Creole population of Louisiana; and
when the fabric of the Union shall be utterly de-
stroyed (as it will be in less than ten years), the
French Canadians and the Southern Creoles will,
by their united and superior action, harmonize the
brute forces residing in the American character,
and rear a beautiful French structure of established
policy, adorned by popish ceremonies, lighted with
a true Catholic faith, and sustained by Parisian
morality, and restaurateurs ~ le certe!
It is a very queer book, that of Madame Manoill
(le Granfifort.
WhuILE we are upon the subject of books, we
may spend a paragraph upon a new work just now
published jointly by M. Guizot and his son-in-law,
Cornelis de Witt. The first contributes an his-
torical study of a hundred pages upon the charac-
ter of Washington; and the last, an historic sum-
mary of those events which immediately preceded
the formation of the Federal Union.
M. Guizot, as usual, shows a strong sympathy
with the old federal politicians of the school of
Washington, Adams, and Madison, and a certain
implied distrust of the democratic fervor which
blazed out in Jefferson, and which, says he,
has since his time governed the political life of
the Western Republic.
As for the minor chat belonging to the Paris
papers, it has been latterly quite tame. The literary
fancyists, who cooked us a score of dishes out of the
merest suicide of a paragraph, hmwe either grown
tired of their vocation, or have been awed into
silence by the weightier paragraphs about the war,
and the weary expectations of the Crimean army.
We see, among these war-waifs, a little estimate
in the Times of the value of a mans limbs
whether foot, finger, or thighas regulated by
that reverend body at the Horse Guards of Lou-
don. We learn from it how the Earl of Errol, a
captain in the Rifle Brigade, received a severe
wound from a musket-ball in the right hand, which,
unfortunately necessitated, the amputation of the
index finger. For this mutilationwhich is but
trifling indeed by comparison with others mention-
ed in this list, and does not involve retirement from
the service, or the sale of his commissionLord
Errol has 211 7s. lid. On the other hand, we find
the Hon. H. Annesley, an ensign in the Scots Fu-
silier Guards, receiving a gratuity of but 100 7s.
Gd. for one of the most ghastly wounds which it is
well possible to receive. A musket-ball passed
through his mouth, and occasioned the loss of twen-
ty-three teeth and of a part of the tongue. Sure-
ly, if the compensation awarded to Lord Errol for
his comparatively trifling wound be right, Mr. An-
nesley, according to any principle known to civil-
ians, should have received snore generous treatment
from the War-office. The same apparently unequal
distribution reigns throughout the whole list. En-
sign Braybrook gets 47 18s. id. for a musket-ball
in his right thigh; while Captain Berkeley, of the
Scots Fusilier Guards, receives 282 17s. Gd. for a
musket-ball in the right leg. Both of these officers
are thrown into the same category of severely
wounded. To Captain MDonald, of the 92d foot,
is awarded the sum of 211 7s. lid, for a musket-
ball in his left foot; while Lieutenant Cahill, of
the 49th, receives 71 17s. id. for a musket-ball in
his right foot.
It is much better to wear a captains foot (in
England), even if the foot is shot off
But it is not alone the inconsistency with which
the 1-lorse Guards estimate an ensigns toe or a cap-
tains finger which is making sore hearts and angry
brains in this day of Englands trial. The ferment
of British mind (if we may believe the tokens that
come to us in every batch of papers) is growing
higher and stronger; and the shame with which
the great commercial nation of the world were
taught to feel that their accredited governors were
incapable of the management of a foreign e~xpedi-
Lion, is yielding to a slow-growing indignation,
that will soon have its results written on the par-
liamentary walls, in language as strong as English
courage and as English hope.
The Brights and the Cobdens may indeed mis-
take their time, and speak in vain just now; and
Kossuth, who has turned British journalist, may
fail (and probably will) in his effort to quicken the
cooling sympathy for Hungary and Poland; but at
least one good result will spring out of the present
fermentation, and that is the firm amid wide-spread
conviction that birth, habit, or station, do not of
themselves supply sufficient material for British
government or for British war; and that manly,
practical energy is as needful in Downin,, Street
and the camp as it is in the counting-room. The
British capacity that lives in the work-shops and in
the offices of eastern London, only wants trans-
muting by the wand of a liberal reform, and by the
annihilation of privilege, to supply commissaries
and war-secretaries by scores.
Will not the Imperial visit of that self-made man,
Napoleon III., have served as a sort of living testi-
monial to the hopeful minds of England, that the
dry bones of feudal caste and stately heirship are
spending their last force, and shake woefully when
compared with the firm front wimich individual en-
ergy and skill (albeit lawless in its action) has as-
serteil and maintained? EDITORS DRAWER. 133
And justly the wise man thus preached to ns all,
Despise not the vsdue of things that are small.
THIS couplet is rather a free translation of Sol-
omons remark; but it has a touch of philoso-
phy in it, and counsel worth heeding. One not so
wise, nor quite so ancient as he, has said, It is
well to play the fool at times ; nnd the greatest
of men have found it both pleasant and profitable
to unbend their minds with innocent disports.
Stop laughing now, boys, theres a fool com-
ing, said a philosopher while at play with his
children: he knew that amusement would be looked
upon as folly by one who could not appreciate him.
Some men get a great reputation for wisdom by
maintaining a profound gravity, frowning on wit
and humor, and eschewing a joke as they would
swearing.
That was very good advice which the father gave
his son on sending him forth into the world. The
son was but haif-witted, and the father enjoined
silence as the first of all virtues. The strict com-
pliance of the son with the injunction induced a
friend of his to ask him one day, why he never
ventured to engage in conversation.
Oh said he, father told me to keep my
mouth shut, and nobody would know I was a fool.
So it happened that the first time he broke the
rule he let the secret out. It was good advice;
these who can not talk sense do better not to talk
at all.
Best it is greater folly for a man who has wit in
Isins, bubbling up in him, ready to burst out, like
siew wine in old bottles, or new cider in ventless
barrels, to stifle it in his bosom, go with a long
face, and speak as if he were in affliction, lest per-
chance the fools outside should think him a fool too.
Be what you are. We have diversities of gifts.
It takes all sorts of men to make up a world; and
we shall not mend but mar the matter by trying
to he what we are not. Besides, there is sheer
hypocrisy in it, which even good men are some-
times not ashamed of. There was the Rev. Thomas
Fairfield, who lived in New Jersey in those good
old times when the Tennents, Gilbert and William,
were godly shepherds of the sheep in Freehold and
New Brunswick. Now Mr. Fairfield was a very
good man likewise, and his face was the index of
Isis heartcheerful, and at peace with God and
man. He had a smile and a word for every man
lee met; and even when he was in his pulpit, the
genial flow of his happy spirit spread like a hams
over the people. Mr. Fairfield was a jovial man,
and every one knew it; but all who knew him
knew also that he was a good man, and loved him
all the more for the good-nature that shone in every
feature of his face. Now it came to pass that Mr.
Fairfield, hearing of the fame of Mr. Tennent, went
down to Freehold, and sat at the feet of that holy
man. The awful gravity, the profound solemnity
of the pastor, impressed Mr. Fairfield with a sense
of his own shortcomings, and he resolved to be a
more sober man. He would go home and be such
a man as the wonderful Mr. Tennent.
The first Sabbath after his return he walked
solemnly into his church with an unbending form,
nad a face as sad as if he had been on the way to
the burial of his best friends. And when he rose
to preach and pray the same deep melancholy sat
on his brow, and was reflected to the hearts of his
people. He went through the services and came
down from the pulpit, where he was suet by Dea-
con Nutman, who asked him,
Are you well to-day, Mr. Fairfield ?
Very well, through mercy, replied the minis-
ter, without a smile or a pleasant word.
Your family all well ?
Quite well, thank the Lord, said Mr. Fair-
field, with a deep sigh. The deacon was confound-
ed; hut persisting in knowing if possible the cause
of his pastors evident depression of spirits, he ven-
tured to inquire if any thing had occurred during
the week past to give him any distress. Being as-
sured there had not, and now provoked at the cold-
ness of his minister, he hroke out upon him:
Well, I tell you what it is, Mr. Fairfield, some-
thing has happened, or else the devils in you,
thats all.
Mr. Fairfield gave him his hand, and, laughing
heartily, said:
You are right, Deacon Nutman, the devil was
in me, but I will cast him out. I was trying to
be like Mr. Tennent; but I will be myself after
this, and nobody else.
It was a much better resolution than the one he
made at Freehold of putting on a long face, that
he might appear unto men to be much better
than jee was.
MIND your stops, is a good rule in writing as
well as in riding. So in public speaking, it is a
great thing to know when to stop and where to
stop. The third edition of a treatise on English
Punctuation has been recently published, with all
needful rules for writers, but none for speakers.
The author furnishes the following example of the
unintelligible, produced by the want of pauses in
the right places:
Every lady in this laud
Hath twenty nails upon each hand;
Five and twenty on isands and feet.
And this Is true, without deceit.
If the present points he resnoved, and others in-
serted, the true meaning of the passage will at once
appear:
Every lady in this land
Hath twenty nails: upon each hand
Five; and twenty on hands and feet.
And this is true without deceit.
Mr. MNair was a man of few words, and wrote
to his nephew at Pittsburg the following laconic
letter:
DEAR NEPHEW,
To which the nephew replied by return of mail:
DEAR UNCLE,
The long of this short was, that the uncle wrote to
his nephew, See say coel on, which a se-mi-col-on
expressed; and the youngster informed his uncle
that the coal was shipped, by simply saying,
coi.on.
HENRY STRICKLAND, whether or not a cousin
of our Joe Strickland we can not say, has been
making a little hook of Travel Thoughts and
Travel Fancies, in which he hits off some things
capitally. In France, he says, all the men
are women, women children, children babies; ba-
bies as a general rule, previous to attaining age of
six months, decidedly not pretty.
Speaking of the way in which the French spend
the Sunday, he says: Telling a Frenchman he

Editor's DrawerEditor's Drawer133-141

EDITORS DRAWER. 133
And justly the wise man thus preached to ns all,
Despise not the vsdue of things that are small.
THIS couplet is rather a free translation of Sol-
omons remark; but it has a touch of philoso-
phy in it, and counsel worth heeding. One not so
wise, nor quite so ancient as he, has said, It is
well to play the fool at times ; nnd the greatest
of men have found it both pleasant and profitable
to unbend their minds with innocent disports.
Stop laughing now, boys, theres a fool com-
ing, said a philosopher while at play with his
children: he knew that amusement would be looked
upon as folly by one who could not appreciate him.
Some men get a great reputation for wisdom by
maintaining a profound gravity, frowning on wit
and humor, and eschewing a joke as they would
swearing.
That was very good advice which the father gave
his son on sending him forth into the world. The
son was but haif-witted, and the father enjoined
silence as the first of all virtues. The strict com-
pliance of the son with the injunction induced a
friend of his to ask him one day, why he never
ventured to engage in conversation.
Oh said he, father told me to keep my
mouth shut, and nobody would know I was a fool.
So it happened that the first time he broke the
rule he let the secret out. It was good advice;
these who can not talk sense do better not to talk
at all.
Best it is greater folly for a man who has wit in
Isins, bubbling up in him, ready to burst out, like
siew wine in old bottles, or new cider in ventless
barrels, to stifle it in his bosom, go with a long
face, and speak as if he were in affliction, lest per-
chance the fools outside should think him a fool too.
Be what you are. We have diversities of gifts.
It takes all sorts of men to make up a world; and
we shall not mend but mar the matter by trying
to he what we are not. Besides, there is sheer
hypocrisy in it, which even good men are some-
times not ashamed of. There was the Rev. Thomas
Fairfield, who lived in New Jersey in those good
old times when the Tennents, Gilbert and William,
were godly shepherds of the sheep in Freehold and
New Brunswick. Now Mr. Fairfield was a very
good man likewise, and his face was the index of
Isis heartcheerful, and at peace with God and
man. He had a smile and a word for every man
lee met; and even when he was in his pulpit, the
genial flow of his happy spirit spread like a hams
over the people. Mr. Fairfield was a jovial man,
and every one knew it; but all who knew him
knew also that he was a good man, and loved him
all the more for the good-nature that shone in every
feature of his face. Now it came to pass that Mr.
Fairfield, hearing of the fame of Mr. Tennent, went
down to Freehold, and sat at the feet of that holy
man. The awful gravity, the profound solemnity
of the pastor, impressed Mr. Fairfield with a sense
of his own shortcomings, and he resolved to be a
more sober man. He would go home and be such
a man as the wonderful Mr. Tennent.
The first Sabbath after his return he walked
solemnly into his church with an unbending form,
nad a face as sad as if he had been on the way to
the burial of his best friends. And when he rose
to preach and pray the same deep melancholy sat
on his brow, and was reflected to the hearts of his
people. He went through the services and came
down from the pulpit, where he was suet by Dea-
con Nutman, who asked him,
Are you well to-day, Mr. Fairfield ?
Very well, through mercy, replied the minis-
ter, without a smile or a pleasant word.
Your family all well ?
Quite well, thank the Lord, said Mr. Fair-
field, with a deep sigh. The deacon was confound-
ed; hut persisting in knowing if possible the cause
of his pastors evident depression of spirits, he ven-
tured to inquire if any thing had occurred during
the week past to give him any distress. Being as-
sured there had not, and now provoked at the cold-
ness of his minister, he hroke out upon him:
Well, I tell you what it is, Mr. Fairfield, some-
thing has happened, or else the devils in you,
thats all.
Mr. Fairfield gave him his hand, and, laughing
heartily, said:
You are right, Deacon Nutman, the devil was
in me, but I will cast him out. I was trying to
be like Mr. Tennent; but I will be myself after
this, and nobody else.
It was a much better resolution than the one he
made at Freehold of putting on a long face, that
he might appear unto men to be much better
than jee was.
MIND your stops, is a good rule in writing as
well as in riding. So in public speaking, it is a
great thing to know when to stop and where to
stop. The third edition of a treatise on English
Punctuation has been recently published, with all
needful rules for writers, but none for speakers.
The author furnishes the following example of the
unintelligible, produced by the want of pauses in
the right places:
Every lady in this laud
Hath twenty nails upon each hand;
Five and twenty on isands and feet.
And this Is true, without deceit.
If the present points he resnoved, and others in-
serted, the true meaning of the passage will at once
appear:
Every lady in this land
Hath twenty nails: upon each hand
Five; and twenty on hands and feet.
And this is true without deceit.
Mr. MNair was a man of few words, and wrote
to his nephew at Pittsburg the following laconic
letter:
DEAR NEPHEW,
To which the nephew replied by return of mail:
DEAR UNCLE,
The long of this short was, that the uncle wrote to
his nephew, See say coel on, which a se-mi-col-on
expressed; and the youngster informed his uncle
that the coal was shipped, by simply saying,
coi.on.
HENRY STRICKLAND, whether or not a cousin
of our Joe Strickland we can not say, has been
making a little hook of Travel Thoughts and
Travel Fancies, in which he hits off some things
capitally. In France, he says, all the men
are women, women children, children babies; ba-
bies as a general rule, previous to attaining age of
six months, decidedly not pretty.
Speaking of the way in which the French spend
the Sunday, he says: Telling a Frenchman he 134 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
should, at any rate, one day in a week, sit still and
be quiet, would be as unreasonable as to tell an
oyster it should at any rate, one day in the week,
run about and wag its tail like a little dog. That
is, it would be telling him to do what he can ot
dowhat he has nothing in his nature to enable
him to do. Then, he should change his nature,
you doubtless will say. That is, you are a Ves-
~iges of Creation developist, and think that a French-
man may, by cultivation, be developed into an
Englishman. To that there is nothing to be said,
except that the theory has not been proved, for, of
course, it never can be disproved. It is impossi-
ble to prove that an oyster may not, by progressive
development become a tail-wagging little dog, by
earnestly and constantly desiring to possess a tail;
by taking the earliest advantage of the first symp-
toms of the coming appendage, and then by unre-
mitting and persevering agitation of the young
caudal shoot, a real waggable tail may be the re-
sult. Still, as I say, the theory wants proof.
IN giving advice to young ladies in the choice
of a husband, a modern writer utters the following
oracles:
The man who doesnt take tea, but takes snuff,
and stands with his back to the fire, is a brute
whom I would not advise you, my dears, to marry
upon any consideration, either for love or money
but decidedly not for love. But the man who,
when the tea is over, is discovered to have had
none, is sure to make the best husband. Patience
like his deserves being rewarded with the best of
wives and the best of mothers-in-law. My dears,
when you meet with such a man do your utmost to
marry him. In the severest winter he would not
mind going to bed first I
EvERy thing relating to the development of
such a mind as Daniel Websters is to be treasured.
Professor Sanborn, of Dartmouth College, relates
of him that, when Daniel was a mere boy, the
teamsters, in passing through the town in which
he lived, were accustomed to say, when they ar-
rived at Jud,,e Websters house, Come, let us
give our horses some oats, and go in and hear lit-
tle Dan read a psalm. Leaning upon their long
whip-stocks, they listened with delight and aston-
ishment to the young orator.
This was in his boyhood. A correspondent
sends to our Drawer the following anecdote of the
man full-grown and in his glory:
Mr. Coolidge was a law-student in Mr. Web-
sters office in Boston, and heard the conversation
I am about to mention. The day before the cere-
mony of laying the corner-stone of the Bunker Hill
Monument, Mr. Webster came out of his private
office, and throwing upon the table a manuscript
which he held in his hand, observed that there was
the oration which he was to deliver the following
day.
How are you pleased with your effort, Mr.
Webster? inquired Mr. Bliss, one of the clerks.
Throwing out his chin, as was his habit when
waggishly inclined, Mr. Webster replied:
Well, Mr. Bliss, I think it is a pretty consid-
erably good oration.
I thought so too, when, standing under the
meridian sun of one of the hottest days in June, I
drank in, boy as I was, every word that fell from
his lips; and many of those words have rung in
my ears to the present hour.
So writes our correspondent; and we could not
but mark the contrast between the audiencesthe
teamsters listening to the boy Dan reading a psalm,
and the rapt thousands hanging on his lips at Bun-
ker Hill.
SOMETIMEs it is the misfortune of a city to have
an ass for a Mayor. Such was the case about
twenty-five years ago with a certain city, which it
would be impolitic, not to say impolite, for us to
name in this connection. He was so ignorant that
the wags sent a book-peddler to him with English
grammars immediately after his election; and when
he declared he had no use for the book, the peddler
said, Every body tells me you must have it, and
study it, too. He came into office, and took his
chair in stately dignity. In a few minutes, the
clerk laid before him a paper, which the Mayor
was requested to endorse as one that had passed
under his eye. The clerk remarked:
It is only necessary that you write your initials
upon it.
My sI liuls, said the Mayor, whats my aint-
uls?
Now it so happened that P was the first letter of
both the Mayors names, and the clerk very inno-
cently replied:
Oh, Sir, merely write two Ps upon the back
of this paper.~~
His Honor the Mayor took the quill in his trem-
bling hand, and, with the perspiration on his brow,
wrote TOO razz, and the document is on file in
the office unto this day!
His orthography was quite on a par with the
Western man who had some cedar trees to sell, and
put up a sign in his lot on which was insciibed,
ZETER TREZE.
NoTHINg like leather, is a proverb, not very
elegant, but very common. The old spelling-
book which was in use a hundred years ago in
England, had the following lines, from which the
saw comes:
A town feard a siege, and held consultation,
Which was the best method of fortification;
A grave, skillful mason said, In his opinion,
l{othing but stone could secure the dominion.
A rpenter said, Though that was well spoke,
It was better by far to defend it with oak.
A currier wiser than both these together,
Said, Try what you please, tla esnethinglikel& itl& er.
JEREMY TAYLOR if he never made a line in me-
tre, was a poet. His sermons are full of the out-
gushings of his glowing heart. Hear him describ-
ing the soul struggling toward heaven:
For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed
of grass, and soaring upward, singing as he rises,
and hopes to get to heaven, and climbs above the
clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back by the
loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion
made irregular and inconstant, descending more at
every breath of the tempest than it could rec~ver
by the vibrations and frequent weighings of his
wings, till the little creature was forced to sit down,
and pant, and stay till the storm was over; and
then it made a prosperous flight, and did rise and
sing as if it had learned music and motion from an
angel, as he passed sometimes through the air about
his ministries here below.
THE story of the creation, related by Moses, is EDITORS DRAWER 135
often cited as one of the finest examples of the sub-
lime in writing. Poets who borrowfrom the Bible
never make any improvement upon it; but in the
World before the Flood,~a poem, by James Mont-
gomery, there is one of the neatest fancies we ever
happened to meet with. He is describing the suc-
cessive acts of creative power, which he attributes
to those faculties of the Creator analogous to the
work performed:
He looked through space, and kindling oer the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars came forth to meet his eye.
His look creates the worlds of light; bnt when he
came to his last and crowning workthe creation
of womanthe poet says, Then God
Created woman with a smile of grace,
And left the smile that made her on her dice.
PuNs on peoples names are the pastime of small
wits, and half the plays of this sort are to be set
down to the invention of the would-be-witty, rather
than to the facts of actual history. Thus it is very
doubtful whether the good deacon in this story ever
had an existence except in the brain of the punster.
He had lost his wife, and was consoling himself by
very private but particular attentions to Patience
Pierson, a smart young woman in the parish. One
day he was bewailing his loss in the ear of his kind
pastor, of whose sympathy he wasvery sure; and the
minister said to him, in a tone of deep condolence,
Well, my dear friend, I can not help you; you
had better try and have pctieace What more
he would have said the deacon did not wait to
hear; but thinking the minister had found out his
secret, he put in: Yes, Sir, I have been trying
to get her, but she seems to be rather shy !
The following rests on no better authority:
Mr. William Payne, a very g4ood fellow, was
a teacher of music, in a pleasant town in Massa-
chusetts; and in his school, one winter, was a pretty
girl, some twenty years old, named Patience Adams,
who having made a strong impression upon Mr.
Payne, he lost no time in declaring his attachment
which Miss A. reciprocated, and an engagement
was the result. Just as Mr. P.s attentions became
public, and the fact of an engagement was gener-
ally understood, the school being still in continu-
ance, and all the parties on a certain evening being
present, Mr. Payne, without any thought of the
words, named as a tune for the commencing exer-
cise, Federal Street, in that excellent collection
of church music, The Carmina Sacra. Every one
loved Patience, and every one entertained the high-
est respect for Payne; and with a hearty good-will
on the part of all the school the chorus commenced:
See gentle Patience smile on Pain,
See dying hope revive again.
The coincidence was so striking, that the grav-
ity of the young ladies and gentlemen could scarce-
ly be restrained long enough to get through the
tune. The beautiful young lady was still snore
charming with her blushing cheeks and modestly
cast-down eyes, while the teacher was so exceed-
ingly embarrassed he knew not what he did. Hasti-
ly turning over the leaves of the book, his eye lit
upon a well-knoww tune, and he called out Dun-
dee. The song began as soon as sufficient order
could be restored, and at the last line of the fol-
lowing stanza rose to a climax:
Let not despair nor fell revenge
Be to my bosom known;
Oh, give me tears for others woes,
And Patience for my own.
Patience was already betrothed; she was in
fact his; in about a year afterward they became
man and wife:
Then gentle Patfence smiled on Payne,
And Payne had Patience for his own.
And away down East, in the State of Maine,
Miss Amanda Mann was married, about two years
ago, to Mr. A. II. Kott, after a brief courtship, of
which the following correspondence was the most
original part: NOTT To AMANDA.
Oh, that I could prevail, my fair, that we unite our lot!
Oh, take a man, Amanda Mann, and tie a double knot.
Your coldness drives me to despairwhat shall I do?
ah what?
For you Im growing thin and sparefor you Im a
pine Notti
If I should hear that you had died, twould kill me on
the spot
Yet only yesterday I cried, Ah! would that she were
Nott!
The chords and tendijis of my heart around thee fondly
twine
Amanda! heal thisaching smart IAmends, ohhe mine!
These very terms, as I opine, suggest united lots
Lets tie, then, dear, these cords, and twine in hy-
meneal knotta.
55555 AMANDA MANNS ainLY.
This life, we know, is hut a span, hence I have been
afraid
That I should still remain A. Mann, and die at lasta
maid.
And often to myself I say, on looking round, I find
Theres Nott, a man in every way just suited to my mind.
I fain would whisper him, apart, hed make me bleat for
ilfe
If he would take me to his heart, and make A. Mann
a wife.
Love not, my mother often says; and so, too, says the
song
Ill heed the hint in future days, and love Nott well and
long.
Then, oh! let Hymen on the spot, his chain around me
throw,
And hind me in a lasting knot, tied with a single beau
DAVID DirsoN was and is the great almanac
man, calculating the signs and wonders in the
heaven~, and furnishing the astronomical matter
with which those very useful annuals abound. In
former years it was his custom, in all his almanacs,
to utter sage predictions as to the weather, at given
periods in the course of the revolving year. Thus
he would say, Aboutthistimelookout
fornchangeof weather; and by stretching
such a prophecy half-way down the page, he would
make very sure that in some one of the days includ-
ed the event foretold would come to pass. He got
cured of this spirit of prophecy in a very remark-
able manner. One summer day, clear and calm
as a day could be, he was riding on horseback; it
was before railroads were in vogue, and being on a
journey some distance from home, and wishing to
know how far it was to the town he was going to
visit, he stopped at the roadside and inquired of a
farmer at work in the field. The farmer told him
it was six miles; but, he added, you must
ride sharp, or you will get a wet jacket before you
reach it.
A wet jacket ! said the astronomer; you
dont think it is going to rain, do you ?
1~o, I dont think so, I know so, replied the
farmer; and the longer you sit there, the more
likely you are to get wet. 136 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
David thought the farmer a fool, and rode on,
admiring the blue skyuncheckeredby a single cloud.
He had not proceeded more than half the distance
to the town before the heavens were overcast, and
one of those sudden showers not unusual in this
latitude came down upon him. There was no place
for shelter, and he was drenched to the skin. But
the rain was soon over, and David thought within
himself, That old man must have some way of guess-
ing the weather that beats all my figures and facts.
I will ride back and get it out of him. It will be
worth more than a days work to learn a new sign.
By the time he had reached the farmers field again
the old man had resumed his labor, and David ac-
costed him very respectfully:
I say, my good friend, I have come all the
way back to ask you how you were able to say that
it would certainly rain to-day ?
Ah, said the sly old fellow, and wouldnt
von like to know ?
I would certainly; and as I am much interest-
ed in the subject, I will give you five dollars for
your rule.
The farmer acceded to the terms, took the money,
and proceeded to say:
Well, you see now, we all use David Ditsous
almanacs around here, and he is the greatest liar
that ever lived; for whenever he says its goin,
to rain, we know it aint; and when lie says fair
weather, we look out for squalls. Now this morn-
ing I saw it was put down for to-day V pleesent,
and I knew for sartain it would rain before night.
Thats the rule. Use Davids Almanac, and al-
ways read it just tother way.
The crest-fallen astronomer plodded on his weary
way, another example of a fool and his money soon
parted. But that was the end of his prophesying.
Since that he has made his almamacs without
weatherwise sayings, leaving every man to guess
for himself.
The Harpers used to print the almanacs of one
Hutchins, who made them for the Southern mark-
et, to the order of a dealer in those parts, who, in
giving the order, directed him to put in the predic-
tions of rain and shine to suit the cotton-crop sea-
son, so that all who bought the almanacs might
have prophecies to suit them, whether they ever
came to pass or not. Hutchins made a great hit,
and a great deal of money, out of a blunder, that
turned out better than could have been expected.
He had an assistant, who was at work on the month
of July, and called on Mr. Hutchins for the weath-
er, at a moment when he was particularly engaged,
and was much annoyed with the demand. Put
in what you please ! he cried out; rain, hail,
thunder, snow, and done with it
Sure enough, by one of the strange freaks of na-
ture, July was visited with a cold snap, and all
these winter performances came off, according to
the programme, and the reputation of the almanac
man was made.
ALL the old settlers of Albanythe,flrstfamilies
of that Dutch and aristocratic capitalwill remem-
ber Jimmy Caidwell, who made agreat fortune in
the tobacco business. He was very much of a wag
in his way, and was not over-particular in his choice
of subjects upon whom to play his tricks. He had
an ancient maiden cousin residing in New York,
whom he had often invited to come up to Albany,
and visit his wife. But in those days, when as yet
no steamboats were known, and a journey between
the two cities in a sloop was a voyage quite equal
to crossing the Atlantic am , the cousin had never
been up the river, the wife had never been down;
and so they had never met. At length he received
a letter informing him that she would sail from
New York at such a time, and in the course of a
week or ten days she might be expected at Al-
bany. A few days before her arrival, he said to
his wife:
I dont know as I ever told you this old maid
of a cousin of mine is as deaf as a postyou have
to hollow so as to be heard a mile to make her an
derstaud.
Ill do my best, said the good wife, and you
know I can speak loud enough when I try.
When Caidwell met his cousin at the wharf and
on his way with her to his house, he remarked:
You have never he~ rd, I suppose, that my poor
wife is very hard of hearing: I have to scream at
the top of my voice to make her hear me, and how
you will manage to get on with her, I am sure I
dont know.
Oh, Ill make her hear; my voice is good, aud
I aint afraid of using it.
Of course neither of the ladies was afflicted with
any defect in her hearing, but Caidwell was dis-
posed to amuse himself at the expense of both of
them. They met.
Why, how do you do ? shouted Mrs. Cald-
well, as if she was speakiug a ship at sea.
Very well, thank you; hope you are too,
screamed the cousin, in a voice that fairly rivaled
Madam Caldwells.
Mr. Caidwell, amused at the success of his
scheme, listened to the two old women, who were
planted close to each other; and first one would put
her mouth up to the ear of the other, and vice versa
they would shout away as if they would make the
dead hear, and not the deaf only. At last, said
Mrs. CaIdwell, in her sympathy with the deaf old
cousin:
What on earth makes you talk so loud? I
aint deaf!
Nor I either, shrieked the old maid; and
both of them perceived in an instant that they had
been made dupes of by Jimmy Caidwell, who had
to take a thorough scolding for putting such a joke
upon them.
Hoon, in his Tale of a Trumpet, makes a
very good play, of which we are reminded by this
story. A peddler is trying to sell ear-trumpets,
and, boasting of their wonderful properties, he says:
There was Mrs. F.,
So very deaf,
That she might have worn a percussion-cap,
And heen knocked on the head withoutheariug it s ap;
Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day,
She heard from her hushand at Botany Bay I
THESE once celebrated and beautiful lines, as
happily conceived as any in the language, were ad-
dressed by a gentleman of the house of York, on
presenting its emblem, a white rose, to a lady of
the house of Lancaster, whose emhlem was the re(I.
If this fayre ross offend thy sight,
Placed in thy hosom hare,
Twill blush to find i elfiess white,
And turn Lancastryne there.
But should thy ruby lip it spys,
As kiss it thou mayst deign,
With envy pale twill lose its dye,
And Yorkish turn again. EDITOR?S DRAWER. 137
THE miserable salaries paid to the clergy in the
country have excited considerable remark within a
few months past, and inquiries have been instituted
to learn the real state of the case. It is ascertain-
ed that some of the profession are compelled to
engage in secular avocations exceedingly unminis-
terial, one of them being the partner to the village
butcher, and actually assisting him in his bloody
business before daylight in the morning. Down on
the Southeastern coast of Massachusetts is an enter-
prising divine, whose people are mostly fishermen;
he is allowed to use their boats and tackle, his sal-
ary being twenty-five dollars a year and half the
fish he catches! If he has good luck, he may get
on well in the summer, but in the winter it is close
shaving. One of his brethren told him the people
were a scaly set, and advised him to strike for
higher wages. He replied, that he never threw
away the small fish till he caught large; he thought
the people could do without him easier than he
without them. He guessed he would fish in that
water a while longer.
This fisherman and fisher of men was as fond of
pleasantry as Dr. Thomas, Bishop of Salisbury in
1760, who was married four times, and on his wed-
ding-ring for his fourth marriage he had inscribed:
If Isurvive,
Ill make them five.
But he seems to have been too fond of fun, making
it not only at the expense of his wives, but of truth
also. For it was he who said:
Perhaps you dont know the art of getting quit
of your wives. Ill tell you how I do. I am called
a very good husband, and so I am, for I never con-
tradict them. But dont you know that the want
of contradiction is fatal to women? If you contra-
dict them, that circumstance alone is exercise and
health, and all medicine to all women. But give
them their own way, and they will languish and
pine, become gross and lethargic,for want of this
exercise.
This same Bishop relates that he was burying a
corpse, when, he says, A woman came and pulled
me by the sleeve in the midst of the service.
Sir, Sir, I want to speak to you!
But, said I, I pray you, good woman, wait
till I have done.
No, Sir; I must speak to you immediately.
~Vell, then, what is the matter?
Why, Sir, you are burying a man who died
of the small-pox next to my poor husband, who
never had it!
A HUNDRED years ago, they could get off a good
thing now and then, as the following will prove.
It was written by Samuel Bishop, who was born in
1731, and is as good as new, and better:
No plate had John and Joan to hoard,
Plain folk, in humble plight;
One only tankard crownd the board
And that was filled each night
Along whose inner bottom sketchd,
In pride of chubby grace,
Some rude engravers hand had etchd
A baby-angels face.
John swallowd first a moderate sup;
But Joan was not like John;
For when her lips once touahd the cup,
She awilid till all was gone.
John often urged her to drink f ir;
But she neer chaned a jet;
She lovd to see the angel there,
And therefore draind the pot..
When John found all remonstrance vain,
Another card he playd;
And where the angel stood so plain,
He got a Devil portrayd.
Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail,
Yet Joan as stoutly quaffd;
And ever, when she seizd her ale,
She cleard it at a draught.
John staredwith wonder petrified
lila hair stood on his pate;
And Why deal guzzle now, lie said,
At this enormous rate?
Oh! John, she said, am I to blame?
I cant in conscience stop;
For sure twould be a burning shame
To leave the Devil a drop
THE Decline and Fall of one of the most prom-
ising sons of upper-tendom is most graphically
celebrated in the following poem, which has found
its way to our Drawer:
THE FIFTH AVENUE BEAU.
Ama The less avi the bonaaie blue een.
A sight for the tailors was Jonathan Spring,
His waistcoat shone bright as a humming-birds wing,
And though small were the checks to his banker he sent,
The checks on his pants were of awful extent.
The ladies all sighed as he danced at the ball,
ills neckeloth so graceful, his boots were so small,
But heedless he fiutterdsuch elegant men
Aspire to the smiles of the great Upper Ten.
You know, ah! you know, a Fifth Avenue Bean
Shows grand and majestic whereer he may go.
You know, ah I you know, a Fifth Avenue Beata
Shows grand and majestic whereer hemay go.
In his boarding-house seated, he lazily yawnd,
I fear its all up, for my linen is pawnd,
My hatter wont trust me, smart man! as lie knew
I user paid a cent on this noble surtout.
I go for free lunch (it is common down town),
And my patronage falls on George W. Browne;
But in ten minutes after, with satisfied air,
I am picking my teeth on the Astor House stair I
You know, etc.
Next morning, when stroking his whiskers, he cne(l,
I must vanish by twilight, but where shall I hide?
Snip thinks he is up to a trifle or so,
Theyll see if I leave him a string to his Beau r
A bee-line he drew, and his landlord lookd blue,
Three constables started our friend to pursue,
And loud screamd the tailor, He promised to pay
The identical hour that lie bolted away.
You know, etc.
They sought him that night, and they sought him next
day,
And they sought him in vain, when a week passed awax,
In the Bowery and every impossible spot,
Old Cabbage sought wildly, bait lo l he was not.
Time fled, and but once he was ented afar
Most gracefully puffing a German cigar,
And tIme newsboys they grinned as the breeze whistled
through
The streaming remains of the gallant surtout.
You know, etc.
(Si ly and with feeli :)
At length a queer bundle of tatters was seen
in a field of potatoes near Fanuingdale Green;
Can I credit any eyes? twas our hero indeed,
Oh, in running so fast, lie had quite run to seed.
d, sad was his fate; be admonished, ye Beans.
And do make an effort to pay for your cias.
He h hired himself oeat, at apenny a day,
As a scar r tofs-ightess the birds away!
Is it so, is it so, a Fifth Avenue Beau
Shows grand and majestic whereer he may ~,o?
Is it so, is it so, a Fifth Avenue Beau
Shows grand and majestic whereer he may 138 HARPER?S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
WE have often laughed at the illustrationswhich
we have had occasion to encounter of the truth of
the poets couplet:
The faults of our neighbors with freedom we blame,
But tax not ourselves, though we practice the same.
A friend mentions an amusing circumstance cor-
roborating this, of which he was himself an eye-
witness:
I was standing, he said, in the railroad ddp6t at
Cincinnati, just as the train was preparing to start.
There was a great crowd, as usual, in the building;
and all at once a man who had put his hand in his
under-coat pocket behind, to take out his pocket-
book to pay his fare, exclaimed, his face glowing
with excitement:
Ive been robbed! There are thieves abouthere!
Some villain has taken my pocket-book from my
pocket, with over a thousand dollars in it I
Where did you carry your pocket-book, Sir?
In my under-coat pocket, Sir, behind.
Then, Sir, you can scarcely blame the indi-
vidual who has taken it, replied the other, in a
very pompons, self-satisfied, patronizing manner,
and in a voice of warning, intended for the ears
of all the by-standers. Yes, Sir, you offer, if I
may say so, a temptation, a premium, Sir, upon
theft, by carrying your money in such a place.
Now, Sir, I always carry my money here, he con-
tinued, putting his hand into an inside breast-pock-
et of his coat, and there it is always
Safe, he would have said; but be suddenly
drew out bis hand, as if it had been bitten by an
adder, exclaiming:
Why, my pocket-book has gone, too! Thieves!
Thieves! Thieves! Let no one go out of the d&
The advice was acted upon, by doing which both
pocket-books were recovered, having been found
upon the floor, where they had been dropped by the
adroit thief, who then mingled in the large and
promiscuous crowd.
The fault of both losers had been a lack of per-
sonal watchfulness in such a place. Each had
practiced the same : as the sage Dogberry says,
they were both in a case.
THE way in which Operatic Performances strike
an unsophisticated observer was most amusingly
exemplified the other night, between two acts of
William Tell, at the Academy of Music, corner
of Fourteenth Street; an edifice whose splendor,
vastness, and magnificent appointments are enough
to dazzle the eyes and bewilder the brains of any
one unaccustomed to such scenes; to say nothing
of a strong-minded countryman, who had not only
never entered such a building before, but who now
saw around him for the first time an audience of
five thousand, fading into a bewildering dimness on
all sides, clad in gorgeous apparel, and shining in
beautiful array, and heard for the first time the
not less bewildering airs and confused shifting
scenes and characters of a Grand Opera. But our
country friend was too honest to keep his opinions
to himself. He spoke right out in meeting to
the city friend who accompanied him, and who in
vain essayed to check him, although he attempted
several times to do so.
It is pretty, said he, sartainand splendid
and all that; but somehow or nuther it dont
seem natral. Not a bit.
Why so ? asked his friend: it tells the story,
dont it, and with grand music?
Wal, y-e-e-sit does tell the story, cause you
know it; but if you didnt know it, it wouldnt by
a long-shot. Now I know all about William Tell,
cause Ive read it: its a story of liberty, and goiA
agin tyranny; and them stories weve got by heart
in this country. But aint it curous to hear him
come out to the front there and sing to that blasted
old Gessler and the rest on em? Now sposin I
should get mad at you, and want to blow you up,
and should ask you to come out to the front door,
so that I could fetch you into the street, and there
bawl out to youin music, understand You scou-
scou-scou-houndrel! what would you think of it?
Would that be natral? I was at the the-a-ter
tother night, and there a fellow got hoppin mad,
but he talked, and talked loud and blusterin tew
but he was in airnest. He didnt sing it, when he
told a fellow to draw his swoard, and see which
would gin in fust! 0 pshaw! singin madness,
singin love (afore folks, any how), aint natur, nor
taint like natur, nuther, I guess not. Now did
you ever see any body do it among your acquaint-
ances ?did you ever do it yourself? Comehon-
est, now
Ourplain-spokencountrymans cityfriend looked
round to see if his companion had been overheard,
when the curtain began to rise, and he said:
Wait until you see th scene, and youll change
your opinion: its the very triumph of the Opera.
And it wasbut it did not satisfy the honest
critics love of natur, and we heard him say:
Lets go; I want to get down to the West-
chester Hotel fore it shets upits a-most ten
oclock.
Well, you slip out; I want to see the Opera
out. Wheh shall I see you ?
In the mornia, bout nine, I xpect, Ill be
down to the store; have them things put up, and
send em with
We didnt hear the rest; but the countryman
departed, to the evident relief of his town friend.
As we walked homeward, we could not help but
think that there was much of truth in this rough,
unhewn criticism; and that some evidence of it
might be found in the history of the difficult rise,
and more difficult progress of the Opera in this
country.
WE are continually made aware that The Ladies
honor the Drawer with a very general perusal.
It is for them, thereforeand especially for young
married womenthat we renovate the subjoined
excellent advice:
It is no uncommon thing for women to become
slatternly after marriage. They neglect dress, ex-
cept when going abroad, and then perhaps there is
a great display of finery, and bad taste in oaer-
dressing. Much respect is shown to con~passy,
but apart from this, there is a sort of Whats the
use? abandonment; and the compliment which is
paid to strangers, is withheld from those who are
the most likely to appreciate it, and who have the
best right to claim it.
When a woman with reference to the question
of personal adornment, begins to say to herself, It
is only my husband, she must prepare herself for
consequences which she may perhaps regret to the
latest day of her life.
Fair readers, this is from a lady-writer of wide
reputationone of your own sex; so, without
wishing that there was a society for the suppres-
sion of ad-vice among the other vices of the day, EDITORS DRAWER 189
think whether this advice be not good, and when
found to be so, lay it to heart.
Now that the Maine Law is in, and Liquors
are out, any old arguments in favor of imbi-
bition may be cited as obsolete jokes. The rea-
soning of the following was given by a voluble
Major, after dinner one day, at seahis colloquist
an American:
The world, said he, is made up of antipa-
thies. Hounds have a natural hatred for foxes
cats for micehawks for doves, and women for
tailorsJohn Bull for a Frenchman. (This was
before the Holy Alliance or the Wars of the
Crimea.) Now, I maintain that there is in the
human system a similar antipathy to cold water
it is not the motio,s but the element. If the Atlan-
tic were south-side Madeira, yon would never hear
of sea-sickness; never, Sirnever! But, Sir, the
stomach, as well as the mind, recoils instinctively
from the idea of an illimitable quantity of cold
blue salt water, Sir. Hence nausea, vomiting
(help yourself, and pass the wine)and every thing
of that kind, Sir.
Not unlike a similar spirit, who said, in an-
swer to the eulogy of a friend upon the virtues of
water:
Well, yeswaters a very good thing; but for
a steady drink, give me rum I
But unhappily, in his case, as it must be in all
cases, a steady drink made an u steady fate
for him!
IT is something, said a friend of ours the other
evening, in a desultory conversation concerning
Preaching and Preachers, to have heard that most
eccentric, wandering, half-crazy servant of the
Lord, as he used to delight to call himself; Lorenzo
Dow. I never heard him but oncebut that once
I shall never forget.
It had been given out for weeks before that at
a certain day he was to be at the little country
town of 0, where I was born and brought up,
and was to preach in the morning, in a pleasant
shady grove a little off the street, whose few scat-
tering houses gave it the dignity of a village.
At the appointed hour he was seen coming
down the main street, his long brown-yellow hair
and terrific beard waving in the wind, and his small
wild eye flashing in the light, as he turned toward
the gathering, and ascended the rough platform,
and walked up to the temporary pulpit, or desk,
which had been erected for him. For although his
appointments were made six months, and some-
times even a year in advance, I believe he never
missed one; at least, at this time he had not, for I
remember distinctly his mentioning the fact.
I was present with an elder brother, who was
a good deal of a wag, with an eye and ear open to
whatever was odd or striking, and his risibles were
greatly excited at the hirsute appearance, and in-
dependent, off-handed manner of Loreazo.
The itinerant expounder took from his pocket
a worn and very dirty copy of the Biblea small
quartoand spread it upon the rough pine-board
which madethe top of his desk. He then took from
another receptacle in his old but capacious coat, a
red bandanahandkerchief, and wiped hisface, which
was streaming with perspiration. He then leaned
forward, made a short prayer, and prepared to be-
gin his discourse.
At this time my brother was desirous of chang
lug his position on the tree; so he climbed up to a
higher branch, and in doing so detached a dry and
withered limb, which fell upon the ground directly
in front of the speaker.
Loreuzo looked up (and as he spoke his red
lips were surrounded by the first beard-mustache I
had ever seen in my life), and in a voice that must
have been a cross between John Randolphs and
Daniel Websters, said:
B-o-o-y-s! up in the tree there! be still
keep stillor come d-o-w-n! You are like the dogs
in the mcn-geryou wont eat yourselves, and you
wont let the oxen eat!
I neednt say that we were hush as mice during
the rest of the sermonparts of which, by the way,
were of exceeding eloquence, if that can be called
eloquence which, however rude, has the power of
deeply moving the feelings.
He spoke of the thousands of miles he had
traveled, at all seasons of the year, often in storms
and tempests, through howling wildernesses; of
his perils by water and perils by land, by night
and by day; but never had his heart failed him
never had he shrunk from his mission.
Lorenzo had a keen eye for the humorous, and
his satire was of the most biting character. It was
Dow who so discomfited a brother itinerant who
bad remonstrated with him for his eccentricity,
both in his matter and his manner:
Ithink, said he, you had better study your
Bible a little more; you dont always get the right
meaning. I think you was mistaken, for instance,
when you told your hearers, the other day, that
under the old Jewish dispensation all small crimes
were punished with cropping off an ear; that it
was a rare thing to find a large assembly gath-
ered together, in our Saviours time, without find-
ing half of them with their ears off; and that this
was what Christ meant by saying so often, He
that bath ears to hear, let him hear!
I never said so! indignantly responded the
itinerant.
Well, never mind, said Lorenzo; never
mind now; it has all gone by; but a whole con-
gregation is seldom mistaken!
Doubtless the whole story was made out ef
whole cloth, to annoy and hoax the preacher.
Oxxs heart must needs melt over this feeling,
appealing colloquy between a store-keeper and his
customer:
STORE-KEEPER. Thats a bad fifty-cent piece.
I cant take it. It is only lead silvered over.
Well, replies the customer, admitting such
to be the fact, I should say that the ingenuity dis-
played in the deception might induce you to ac-
cept it. Admire, Sir, the devotion of the artist to
the divine idea of LIBERTY, the idol of us all! He,
having wrought her effigy in humble lead, in order
to make it worthier of that glorious impression, re-
sorts to the harmless expedient of silvering it over!
And shall eve harshly repudiate his work? Oh,
no, Sir! youll take it; I know you will
Enough said : he did take it!
NOTHING, said one who knew human nature
well, is snore difficult than to make an acceptable
present in an acceptable way. Here is an instance
where both were accomplished per lv gauche, as
the French phrase goes:
A venerable professor in one of our Northern
Universities, who was a great antiquary, and fond 140 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
of all rarities in his line that could be found on
the face of the earth, or under the earth, had aa-
other affection, almost equal to his~ pre-eminent
penchant, and that was, a love for Bologna sau-
sages, of which he had always a supply on hand
for his own personal use, whether lecturing upon
his favorite themes, or in his study, or elabora-
as his pupils used to term it.
Now this worthy professor had a nephew who
was going abroad, who had lived with him for
some time contributed much to his cabinet of an-
tiquarian curiosities, and had become a confirmed
favorite. As he was about to sail, the professor
handed him a small roll, sayin,,:
My dear boy, I thank yon for your promise to
send me whatever is rare or curious in my way,
that you may meet with upon your travels. I do
not want them so much for myselfI want them
for the benefit of sciencefor that science of the
glorious Past which throws, and always will, al-
ways must throw such a gorgeous lustre upon the
Future. Meantime, take this (handing him the
scroll to which we have alluded). take this.
It is but a small present; but it may prove useful
vonit
to may he a God-sendit may save your
life!
The young nephew took the document, and
sailed upon his voyage.
Three years passed away, and the nephew re-
turned home, having in the mean time visited
nearly every port in the Mediterranean.
One morning, a few days after his return, he
made his appearance at his uncles mansion, bear-
ing under Isis arm a small tin box.
The first greeting over, his uncle said to him
(he had not for a moment lost sight of the tin box),
as he led the way to his museum of antiquated cu-
riosities:
Well, Ned, what have you got in the box, eh?
Something rare, Illbe sworn.
It is something rare, said the nephew; but
what it is I am sure I can not tell. I picked it up
in Pompeii, but there nobody knew what it was.
And he handed the box to the doctor, who re-
ceived it as gingerly as if it had been filled with
mortgages.
But stop, said the doctor; we must have
Professor G here.
The professor was sent for, and came. The box
was opened, sundry newspapers were unwound, and
its contents were found to consist of one article
only. With spectacles on nose, the doctor ex-
amined it with minute carefulness. He turned it
over and over, looked at it on all sides and all ends,
and in all lights; and having finished his survey,
he handed it to the professor.
~~~That is that, Professor C? It is very
curious.
The professor examined it as closely as the
doctor.
The~forns is familiar to me, said he; it looks
very much like a sausage I
So it doesit does ! chimed in the doctor.
Dont go, Ned, said he to his nephew, who had
his hand upon the latch of the door; dont go;
we shall soon know what it is.
It looks like a sausage, repeated the professor,
solemnly; and putting it to his nose, he added,
It smells like a sausage ! And then, having
tasted it, he threw it from him violently, as if it
had been a rattlesnake, exclaiming,
Doctor, it is a sausagea Bela sausage
and a very bad one too
Perhaps it was; but at any rate it was the
prese t which the uncle Isad given the nephew,
and which possibly had not greatly improved by
Isaviun voyaged around the world!
Never, says the narrator, was meanness
snore appropriately rebuked. The uncle was no-
torious for his penuriousness; his nephew had been
a slave to him and his caprices; and his reward, as
he was about to leave him, wasa Bologna sausage,
destined to become a veritable antique
Sosix wag, doubtless by way of satirizing cer-
tain schemes for money-making in these days of
wild speculation in any thing and every thing, in-
serted in a daily journal the other day the follow-
ing attractive advertisement:
CAPITALISTSWanted, FIVE HUNDISET)
1 DOLLARS, te go en a Spree I e.o.d.i.s.t.f.
There was a chance for some one who might be
desirous to make a permanent investment
WE dont know when we have been more shocked
than in perusing the following. It occurred in St.
Lawrence county in this State, and is given on the
authority of a gentleman of undoubted veracity
A young man addicted to intemperate hebits,
during one of his periodical sprees took a sudden
notion to pay a visit to his sweetheart. On the
evening alluded to, the young lady and a female
associate were the only occupants of the house
where she resided.
About ten oclock in the evening the young
man arrived at the house, considerably worse from
the use of bevera,,es. His strange manner in
approaching the door excited the suspicion of the
young ladies, who supposed the house was attacked
by robbers. He knocked at the door, and demand-
ed admission; but his voice not being recognized,
from the thickness of his tongue, the ladies refused
to comply with the demand.
Determined to force an entrance, he commenced
a series of assaults upon the barred and bolted door
by kicking and pounding. After a number of des-
perate kicks, the panel of the door gave way, and
the leg of the besieger went through the aperture,
and was immediately seized by one of the ladies
and firmly held, while the other, armed with a
saw, commenced the work of amputation!
The grasp was firmly maintained, and the saw
vigorously plied, until the leg was completely sev-
ered from the body!
With the loss of his leg, the intoxicated wretch
fell upon his back, and in that condition lay the
remainder of the night.
In the mean time the ladies were frightened al-
most to death. With the dawn of morning the
revelation was made that one of the ladies had par-
ticipated in the amputation of the leg of her lover!
The wretched man was still alive, His friends
were immediately sent for, and he was conveyed
to Isis home, where, with proper treatment, he
gradually and miraculously recovered, and is now
alive and well.
We hardly credited, says the editor of the
journal from which we quote, the latter part of
the story, and contended that the mass must hay
bled to death on the spot, insisting, indeed, that it
could not be otherwise. But we were mistaken.
The leg was a woodems one.-~
H
___ ) {~j -
p
-Y
7
\ )
~1
I
z
VOL XI ~

Furnished by Mr. G.
FIGURES 15.CHILDRENS COSTUMES.
BRODJE, ~51 Canal-street, New York, and drawn by YoIGT
from actual artwles of Costume.
17
~~)/ / )
I)-
U
/ \~
K 44 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
FOR the present month we illustrate a variety
of costumes for children. We give merely
hints of the styles and fabrics represented, which
may, of course, be varied according to the taste of
parents. FIGURE 1. Boy SeatedHat of straw;
coat of dove-colored merino, confined at the waist
by a cord terminating in tassels; the breast is open,
with a revers; the sleeves loose, and cut np at the
outside; the sides confined by belts covered with
galoon trimming similar to that which horders the
outline of the garment; the neck is covered by a
little ruche, tied with a bow ; nansouk under-sleeves;
l)antaloons, full and embroidered. FIGURE 2. Girl
StandingHair plaited ~ la Grec, and tied with
ribbon; cambric under-sleeves, confined at the wrist;
chemisette plaited, with a frill around the neck;
dress of tissue, the hody plain, cut very low in the
neck; sleeves short and puffed; skirt very full; a
ribbon is placed berthe-wise, from the shoulders to
the middle of the waist, with hows and streamers;
straw fiat with wreath of rosebuds. FIGURE 3.
Kneeling BoySacque of dark green cashmere,
full and confined at the waist by a belt of glazed
leather. FIGURE 4. Girl Stendinq.Hair in curls;
muslin chemisette, gathered with a narrow ruche
around the neck; sleeves of the same, half-loose
and full; dress of dotted Swiss muslin, cut square
across and low, with a bertha; skirt full. FIGURE
5. Girl Seated. Dress of pearbblue glacd silk;
Mleeves flowing, open in two lozenges in front; hody
open and low, belted across with four hands; trim-
Ining of ribbon quilling around the hody; the
basque slashed, and ornamented with bows like
those upon the sleeves; bonnet of taffeta and lace;
Con~ress gaiters.
FIGURE 7.CM.
FIGURE 6.MANTILLA of black lace, drawn from
one of BRODIRS recent importations. It is en-
riched hy two flounces, and the upper portion fall-
ing double. It is very appropriate to he worn
over light colors.
FIGURE 7.CAP of deep-pointed Malines lace,
trimmed with a wreath of moss roses and leaves.
The strings are of No. 22 satin ribbon, with a pearl
edge.
We observe that the goods of English manu-
facture are distinguished by possessing
chiefly white, or very light grounds;
while those of the French affect the deli-
cate neutral tints upon which their ex-
quisite designs are exhibited with the
happiest effect. When the heavier fab-
rics are worn, especially taffetashas-
quines are in as great favor as ever; they
are made quite deep, and ahound in or-
nament. Skirts are worn exceedingly full
and long; when not flounced, a favorite
ornament may he employed to trim the
sides of tile front seam from the waist
down, or it may be returned at the bot-
tom tunic-wise. Bows of ribbon, arranged
in loops which overlap each other in suc-
cessive ranges, ~ in Louis XIV., are in
vogue. Flounces will be much in esteem
as ever. Among the tissues to which we
refer ahove, we observe that a large pro-
portion have three, worn ~ disposition.
These, in their admirable chintz pat-
terns, are peculiarly tempting. For bon-
nets, straw-braids, etc., are much em-
ployed. The curtains are in some fash-
ioned so as to form a point or peak at the
back of the neck: we may mention others
as heing slashed at this place. Blonde,
for face trimming, and used to fall over
the brim, retains great favor. As before
stated, when a general outline is pre-
served, the remainder is entirely a mat-
ter of taste; for it would be difficult tc)
construct a honnet which would be un-
fashionable in the minor details of its
arrangements.
I
N
FIGURE 6.MANTILLA.

HARPERS
NEW MONTHLY_MAGAZINE.
No. LXII.JULY, 18~55.YoL. Xl.
JOHN PAUL JONES.
~,, ~fJ1EN the quar-
rel between
Great Britain and
its American sub-
jects resulted in act-
uni war, and blood
~owed at Lexington
and Concord in the
spring of 1775, the
rebels, as the
haughty ministers
called the resist-
~x ing colonists, had
not a single armed
vessel afloat to de-
fend their expose(i
coast of several
hundred miles in ex-
tent. Then, as now, the
British navy was the
right arm of English
puissance; and every
seaport town of the feeble
colonists might have been can-
nonaded by a hundred guns at
the same time. Although a
JOhN PAUL JONES.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by harper and Brothers, in the Clerks Office of the
1)istrict Court for the Southern District of New York.
VOL. XI.No. 62.K 146 hARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE
few Sons of wealthy merchants and planters had
been schooled in the royal navy of father-land,
and many American seamen had become some-
what expert in naval warfare by contests with
the French during a portion of twenty years
preceding the Revolution, yet when the tempest
of war burst upon New England, and the wise
men of the continent assembled in council, there
appeared no reliable material for the organiza-
tion of a marine force at all adequate for the
contingency. So Congress directed its special
attentiou and earliest efforts toward the estab-
lishment and support of an army.
The kindling flame of revolution at Lexing-
ton, and the thunder-peal from Bunkers Hill
sixty days afterward, were signals for rapine
which the British heeded with swift alacrity.
Boston harbor was the centre from which radi-
ated depredations upon public and private prop-
erty in all directions; and around Boston harbor
soon hovered a bevy of private vessels, manned
by brave patriots and armed as circumstances
would permit. These first taught the maraud-
ers to be circumspect, then cautious, then fear-
ful. Within a few weeks, while the Continental
army were piling huge fortifications on land to
fence in the tiger of oppression and carnage
upon the little Boston peninsula, these priva-
teers made the marine freebooters flee to the
protection of the gaps of Castle William and
of the ships of war in the surrounding waters.
Right seemed to give might to the Americans;
and a guardian angel appeared to sit at every
prow, for they were almost always successful.
The necessity of a coast-guard became ap-
parent, and early in the autumn of 1775, the
Continental Congress made a first effort to or-
ganize a navy. Ia October, a Marine Commit-
tee were appointed, and an order for the build-
ing and arming of several vessels was put forth.
In the mean while, the Provincial Congress of
Massachusetts had made similar efforts, and
Washington had co-operated with the New En-
gland people by ordering the construction and
arming of six vessels to cruise off the coasts of
the Eastern Colonies. These temporary expe-
dients were followed by more permanent ar-
rangements. In December, the Continental
Congress issued its first naval commissions, and
Esek Hopkins was appointed the commander-in-
chief. Among the lieutenants commissioned at
the sanse time was JOHN PAUL JONES, a little
wiry man (a Scotchman by birth), not more
than five feet in height, and twenty-eight years
of age. He was slight in physical stature, with
a thoughtful expression, and dark, piercing eyes.
No one would have suspected the presence of a
hero in that unpretending young man when,
with modest demeanor, he received his commis-
sion for service in a navy yet uncreated, and in
the employment of a nation yet unheralded to
the world except in glowing prophecies by po-
litical seers, to whom the wish was father to the
thought. Yet all the greatness of a true hero
slumbered in his brain, his heart, and his sin-
ews; and it needed only the electric spark of
opportunity to awaken it to full development.
That spark was not long withheld; and when
the war for Independence had closed, the suni
of his exploits was a large item on the balance-
sheet which exhibited the account current of
American heroism. He had fought twenty-three
battles on the sea; made seven descents upon
Great Britain or her Colonies; snatched from
her navy, by conquest, four large ships and many
tenders, store-ships, and transports; constrained
her to fortify her home ports, to desist front
cruel burnings in America, and to change her
barbarous policy of refusing to consider captured
American seamen as prisoners-of-war, and tor-
t-uriug them in prisons and prison-ships as
traitors, pirates, and felons.
Some British writers delight in calling John
Paul Jones a corsair and pirate a ruffiun
who would have fought under the colors of time
Dey of Algiers as readily as under those of His
Most Christian Majesty or of Congress while
Americans, influenced by the memory of his
deeds, and assured by the truths of history, re-
gard him as a hero and patriot worthy of a con-
spicuous place in the nations Valhalla. In the
language of our Declaration of Independence,
we say, Let facts be submitted to a candid
world.
Our hero was the youngest of five sons of
John Paul, a gardener, who lived with Mr.
Craik, of Arbigland, in one of the most beauti-
ful and picturesque spots on Solway Frith. The
cottage of his birth, in a grassy glade among
umbrageous trees, is yet preserved with care,
and many pilgrims sit beneath its porch in ev-
ery summer time. It is a very humble cot, and
the gardener of Arbigland was a very humble
man; and so Folly and Fiction conspired to ac-
count for the greatness of the son of John Paul
and Jenny Macduff; by claiming for him a noble
lineage. Regarding the brand of illegitimacy
as more honorable, when connected with aris-
tocracy, than the title to birth-right in lawful
wedlock, his most ardent admirers called him a
son of the neighboring Earl of Selkirk. That
well-meant pretense was fouf calumny. It
stabbed female virttie and tarnished the moral-
ity of a Christian gentleman. The gardeners
son vindicated his mothers chastity during his
lifetime; and by his deeds proclaimed to the
world the significant factwhich worshipers of
aristocracy are slow to believethat it needs not
the blood of a peer, created but yesterday by
royal patent, to give paternity to a true NOISLE-
ItLtN.
What can ennoble sets, or slaves, or cowards?
Alas! not all the blood of alt the Itowards.
John Paul the younger was horn on the 6th
of July, 1747. His childhood and earliest youth
were passed among the most beautiful and ro-
mantic scenery on the southern coast of Scot-
land. Near his fathers cottage the blue waters
of the Nith came flowing into the Solway from
the north, and from the banks of the estuary
See Pictoriet History of Ernjtand during the reign of
George the Third, vol. t. p. 397. JOHN PAUL JONES. 147
that received them arose the huge granite pile
of the steep Criffel. Away eastward to farthest
point of vision, where the sparkling Esk pours
its tribute, the Frith was spread out; and south-
ward and far seaward the Cumberland shore
stretched away and faded in dim perspective.
In the shadowy distance, vailed in blue, the
lofty summits of the Helvellyn, the Skiddaw,
and the Saddleback appeared solemn and mys-
terious, like ever-vigilant sentinels. Such were
the features of nature daily unvailed to the eye
of young Paul; and his eager ear was charmed
by local legends, or the tales of ocean perils,
excitements, and exploits, narrated by the bon-
neted seamen who frequented the Frith. These
stirred the heart of the child. his unfledged
ambition became restless, and, borne upon the
wings of imagination, it hovered with delight
over valorous achievements in perspective, and
listened with the ear of perfect faith to the
worlds future applause. In the little bays and
inlets on the Kirkcudbright shore he mnnwu-
vied tiny fleets, himself High Admiral of the
Blue ; and among his companions in martial
sports he was ever regarded as one born to
command.
The sea was the mysterious world toward
which the thoughts of young Paul were contin-
ually tending. It was the frequent burden of
his dreams; and in every seaman he beheld a
hero and coveted exemplar. At length his great
desire was satisfied. At the age of twelve years
he was apprenticed to a shipping merchant of
White Haven (the principal port of the Soiway),
and soon afterward sailed for the Rappahanuock,
in Virginia. At Fredericksburg, on the bank of
that stream, Johns elder brother had been set-
tled for several years, and at his house young
Paul spent most of his time while on shore, in
the study of navigation and other subjects i)er-
taming to a successful life on the ocean. His
sprightliness, integrity, and sobriety commended
him strongly to his master. But business losses
soon compelled that gentleman to release the
apprentice, and at the age of sixteen years he
was master of his own actions.
At that period there were several White Ha-
ven vessels engaged in the African slave-trade.
Thirsting for adventure, young Paul sought and
obtained the appointment of third mate in one
of those slavers. His skill as a seaman and
knowledge as a navigator attracted the atten-
tion of his superiors and the owners, and at the
age of nineteen years he was promoted to first
mate of the Two Friends, one of the largest of
the White Haven vessels engaged in that trade.
But he had become disgusted with the cruel
business. That manly justice and all-pervading
humanity of his character, planted at his birth
and wonderfully fruit-bearing in his maturity,
were outraged; and abandoning the prospect of
certain official promotion and great pecuniary
gains, he left the vessel, at Jamaica, in 1768,
and returned to Scotland as a passenger in a
brigantine bound for Kirkcudbright. On the
voyage, the captain and mate sickened and died,
and, at the earnest solicitation of the crew, John
Paul took command, and safely navigated the
vessel, with its valuable cargo, into its destined
haven. The owners were grateful to the young
man for the preservation of their property, and
at once made him master of the vessel. As
such he made two voyages to the West Indies.
During the second, an event occurred which
had an important influence in shaping his des-
tiny. At his command, the carpenter of the
vessel, a mutinous and insolent fellow, was
flogged in the usual way, and at the end of the
voyage was discharged. lie shipped in a Bar-
celona packet, where he died, and Captain Pauls
envious enemies at home circulated the report
that the carpenters death was caused by the ex-
cessive punishment inflicted by his commander.
The story, often told and always embellished,
gained general credence. Paul was regarded
with suspicion by those whom he respected as
his best friends; and, after engaging for a little
while in the coast trade, he abandoned Scotland
forever.
Captain Paul commanded a London vessel in
the West India trade for about eighteen months;
and after engaging in commercial speculations,
at Tobago, on his own account, for a short time,
he went to Virginia to take charge of the estate
of his brother, who had died childless and intest-
ate. The roseate hues of childhoods dreams
concerning life on the sea had become mellowed
into russet, and even graver autumnal tints, by
the pencil of reality; and, charmed by the cli-
mate and the ~menities of Virginia life, he re-
solved to abandon the ocean and seek happiness
upon the plantation. Yet he seems not to have
shared in his brothers estate; and when history
next speaks of him, he was living in penury near
Fredericksburg. The tempest of the American
Revolution was then gathering strength, and the
muttering thunders of its wrath were heard all
over the land. These stirred the latent ener-
gies of the hero in the soul of Captain Paul.
lie had chosen America for his home, and he
resolved to fight for its liberties. In homely
garb, and bearing a kind word of recommenda-
tion from Doctor (afterward General) Hugh
Mercer, of Fredericksburg, he traveled on foot
to Philadelphia, appeared before the Marine
Committee of the Continental Congress, and
offered his services in the navy about to be cre-
ated. For reasons never explained, he now af-
fixed Jones to his name. The Committee had
never heard of John Paul Jones. Silas Deane
shook his head in distrust. John Langdon had
heard of John Paul in the harbor of Portsmouth.
but to him .Jones was a myth. But Richard
Henry Lee knew the young man and his history,
and urged his suit. It was successful; and on
the 22d of December, 1775, John Paul Jones
was commissioned a liente unt in the American
navy, first on the list, his credentials bearir~,,
date the seventh of that month.
The command of the sloop Providence was
offered to Lieutenant Jones; but being unac-
quainted with such craft, he preferred service 148 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
in a larger vessel with subordinate station. He yellow silk, bearing the figure of a pine-tree,
became the first lieutenant of the Alfred, a and the significant device of a rattlesnake, with
clumsy merchant ship that had been purchased the ominous words, Dont tread on me ! By
by Congress and transformed into a frigate, this act, John Paul Jones won the high honor
pierced for thirty guns, and manned by three of hoisting the first ensign ever displayed on
hundred men. That vessel, with six others board an American man-of-war. He was then
taken from the merchant service and armed, in the twenty-ninth year of his age; and, as
were all fitted out in the Delaware, and com- events afterward proved, he was far better qual-
posed the fleet of Commodore Hopkins, the ified for Commander-in-chief of the navy than
Commander-in-chief. he in whose honor the cannons roared, and peo-
The Alfred was anchored off the foot of Wal- ple shouted, and streamers fluttered, and a broad
nut Street. On a brilliant morning, early in flag was thrown to the crisp breeze on that win-
February, 1776, gay streamers were seen flutter- ter morning.
ing from every mast-bead and spar on the river. The primary object in fitting out that little
At nine oclock, a full-manned barge thrided sqnadron in the I)elaware was the defense of
its way among the floating ice to the A!fred, the coast below, which, during the autumn of
bearing the Commodore, who had chosen that 1775, had been ravaged by Lord Dunmore, the
vessel for his flag-ship. He was greeted by the royal governor of Virginia. He had been driv-
thunders of artillery and the shouts of a multi- en from Williamsburg, the capital, by the cx-
tude. When he reached the deck of the Alfred, asperated patriots, and in revenge he employed
Captain Salstonstall gave a signal, and Lieu- the little British flotilla which gave him shelter,
tenant Jones, with his own hands, hoisted a in devastating the defenseless coast of lower
ne;v flag prepared for the occasion. It was of Virginia. His crimes in that sphere of action
culminated when, on the 1st of January, 1776,
~ / he laid the flourishing town of Norfolk in ashes.
/ K He depredated without fear of molestation by
I water, for ice had closed the Delaware before
/ the American squadron was ready for sea.
/ That frostbarrier was removed at the middle
/ of February; and on the 17th of that month
the Continental fleet left its anchorage at Reedy
Island and sailed for the Bermudas, contrary,
however, to the instructions of Congress, to
cruise off the southern coast. Two sloops from
New Providence were captured, and their crews
assured Commodore Hopkins that the forts of
the island (Nassau and Montagu), where Nassau
now stands, were very weak, and contained a
large quantity of munitions of war. It was a
tempting prize, and the Americans sought to
secure it. Hopkins neglected proper strategy
suggested by Jones, and the whole squadron
appeared off the harbor on the 17th of March.
The governor rallied the people to the defense
of the fortress and town, and during that night
he removed one hundred and sixty barrels of
powder beyond the reach of the invaders. On
the following morning the squadron entered the
harbor, under the direction of Jones, who had
been there in the merchant service. The peo-
ple fled, and the governor and two other gen-
tlemen were made prisoners. With these, and
almost a hundred cannons and military stores,
the fleet weighed anchor the same afternoon,
and bore away for the New England coast.
The governor was a valuable captive, and was
afterward exchanged for Lord Stirling, of the
Continental army, who was made prisoner at
the battle near Brooklyn the following year.
When off Block Island, on its way to Narra-
ganset Bay, the little fleet captured two small
____ vessels, and soon afterward fell in with the Brit-
ish frigate Glasgow, of twenty-nine guns. Then
occurred the first regular battle by vessels of the
American navy. It was a running fight of sev-
eral hours, during which the A[,fred alone won
A
HOISTING TOIl AMalucAn FlAG. JOHN PAUL JONES. 149
any honor. The Glasgow escaped, and the dam-
aged squadron, with its two prizes, ran into
New London harbor. From thence it stole
around to Narraganset Bay, and anchored in
the river a little below Providence. Congress
censured Hopkins for his disobedience of orders
and inefficiency in the affair with the Glasgow,
and in March, 1777, after a fair trial, he was
dismissed from the service. Two other com-
manders in the squadron were tried for not aid-
ing the Alfred. One was acquitted; the other
was cashiered, and the command of his vessel
(the Providence sloop-of-war, with twelve guns)
was given to Jones. Commodore Hopkins had
no blank commissions, and so he wrote the new
appointment upon the hack of Jones s commis-
sion, received from Congress. In that little
craft our hero performed many hrave exploits.
For several weeks he cruised between Boston
harbor and the Delaware; sometimes convoying
American vessels bearing troops and provisions,
and at others annoying the numerous British
vessels that hovered along the New England
coast. He sometimes had severe encounters,
but by superior seamanship he managed to es-
cape much harm, if he did not achieve victories.
Early in August, 1776, Jones received a cap-
tain s commission from Congress, and toward
the close of the month he sailed in his little
craft on a six weeks cruise eastward. While
far at sea, in the latitude of the Bermudas, he
chased the Solebay frigate, supposing her to he
an English merchantman. He came very near
being captured himself, for at one time he was
within pistol-shot of his stranger antagonist.
With consummate skill he kept without the
range of her heavy guns, and escaped unin-
jured. Soon afterward, while lying to off the
Nova Scotia coast, and his men were fishing,
the British frigate Milford came hearing down
upon him. Jones immediately made sail, to
try the relative speed of the vessels. Assured
of the superiority of the Providence, be short-
ened sail and allowed the Milfard to gain on
him. The enemy commenced firing at long
distances, and occasionally rounded to and dis-
char~ed a hroadside. This was kept up from
ten in the morning until sunset, without dam-
aging the Providence. He excited my con-
tempt so much, said Jones, in his dispatch to
the Marine Committee, hy his continual firing
at more than twice the proper distance, that
when he rounded to to give a broadside, I or-
dered my marine officer to return the salute
with only a single musket. Jones lost sight
of the Mi [ford at twilight, and the following
day he ran into the harbor of Canso, dispersed
the fishing vessels, destroyed the ships at the
wharves, seized the tory flags, and then shot
across Chedabucto Bay and made two descents,
at different points, upon Madame Island, with
the same destructive energy. After a cruise of
forty-seven days, he entered Newport harbor,
having captured sixteen prizes, destroyed many
small vessels, and spread alarm all along the
coasts of Nova Scotia and Cape Breton.
While at the east, Captain Jones was in-
formed that about a hundred American prison-
ers were at hard labor in the coal mines on
Cape Breton. He now proposed an expedition
for their liberation and the capture of the coal
fleet, which would sail for New York in Novem-
ber. The plan was approved, and by order of
Commodore Hopkins he sailed in command of
the Alfred; on the 2d of November, accompanied
by the Providence. He made several captures,
and among them was an armed vessel laden
with winter clothing for the British troops in
Canada. This was an important prize; for
when it arrived at Dartmouth, the destitute
army under Washington was shivering on the
banks of the Delaware. Jones failed in his
humane endeavor to release the American pris-
oners, for the harbors of Cape Breton adjacent
to the coal mines were frozen when he arrived.
After alarming the people of Louisburg, de-
stroying considerable property at Canso, and
making his name a terror to the fishermen of
Nova Scotia, he sailed for Boston with five
prizes under convoy, and one hundred and fifty
prisoners on board the Alfred. He fell in with
the Milfard, which gave chase and captured
one of his prizes. With the others he reached
Boston in safety on the 15th of December,
having only two days water and provisions
left.
The temper and patriotism of Captain Jones
were severely tried after his return from this
successful cruise. Instead of being rewarded
by promotion, he was mortified by degradation
and injustice. Comniodore Hopkins, then suf-
fering the displeasure of Congress, though not
yet deprived of his commission, was jealous of
the rising fame of Jones, because it was de-
served; and using his delegated power as com-
mander-in-chief of the navy, he gave the com-
mand of the frigate Alf~ed to Captain Hinman,
and ordered Jones back to the sloop Providence.
In the arrangement of rank also, Jones was dis-
honored, by being placed eighteenth on the list
of captains, when he was entitled, as senior
lieutenant, to be the sixth. This was grievous
injustice to a brave man, and his sensitive soul
felt the indignity keenly; yet, unlike Arnold,
who had been similarly treated, lie did not allow
his private resentments to rise superior to his
public duties. He submitted, but not in silence.
He wrote a spirited remonstrance to the Marine
Committee, and that body commissioned him
for a cruise in the A [fred with a small squadron
in the Gulf of Mexico. Ilophins would not
recognize the appointment. Jones was not to
be foiled. He made a journey by land to Phil-
adelphia, and in person explained his case and
asked for justice before the Marine Committee.
They antedated his commission as captain, but
that did not open to him that coveted door of
rank and promotion which he sought. His im-
portunities were constant, but consistent, and
finally the committee abandoned the Gulf ex-
pedition, ordered three large vessels to be pur-
chased for the use of Congress, and authorized 150 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
mediately forwarded the letter of the Marine
Committee to the commissioners at Paris, cov-
ered by one from himselg in which he expressed
an earnest desire to be useful to the American
cause, and suggested the employment of single
vessels, or squadrons of small size, and at great
distances apart, as the most effective method
for annoying the British. This was the mode
of warfare which he afterward adopted while
making his wonderful cruises in the northern
waters. On the receipt of his letters, the
commissioners invited Captain Jones to Paris,
whither he went with joyous alacrity; for he
had been informed that a large ship called the
indien, intended for his use, was almost com-
pleted at Amsterdam.
Early in 1776, Silas Deane, a delegate in
Congress from Connecticut, and one of the
earliest members of the Marine Committee,
was sent on a secret mission to Paris, to sound
the French government on the subject of ex-
tending aid in money, arms, and men to the
revolted colonists. That aid was hoped for,
not because a Bourbon king was suspected of
love for a people struggling for freedom, but
because the revolt, if sustained, would seriously
damage England and benefit France, her an-
cient and abiding enemy. Deanes suit was
quite successful, if abundant promises could be
relied on. He was joined in December follow-
ing by Dr. Franklin and Arthur Lee, as asso-
ciate commissioners, and these were the men
before whom Jones appeared. As yet, the
French government had made no public avowal
of its friendship for the colonists, and French
duplicity was endeavoring to conceal the fact
of its secret sympathy from English jealousy.
But the concealment was gossamer-like, for the
American commissioners were as free to act in
Paris in carrying out measures against Great
Britain as if they had been in Philadelphia;
and they were in daily friendly intercourse
with the Count de Vergennes, the French
premier. This was well known to the British
ministry.
The conference between the commissioners
and Captain Jones was long, friendly, and im-
portant. But disappointment was again in his
pathway to glory. The Indien had been sold
to France, because the British minister at the
Jones to take command of either of the three
which he might choose. There was much de-
lay, and the subject of rank still greatly annoyed
Jones. That annoyance aroused all the ener-
gies of his mind, and he wrote a series of letters
to the Marine Committee, in which he mani-
fested the most subtle statesmanship and ad-
ministrative talent. He suggested many things
concerning regulations in the navy, the relative
rank of officers in comparison with the land
service, the establishment of dock-yards, and
the appointment of competent superintending
commissioners, which showed a breadth of fore-
caste and wise prudence really astonishing.
His suggestions received the most respectful
attention, and his plans were generally adopted.
The committee clearly perceived that they were
dealing with no ordinary man, and that any
neglect of such a character would be treason to
the best interests of the country.
Jones had returned to Boston, and while
waiting for the purchase of the three ships or-
dered by Congress, that body gave him an hon-
orable proof of its confidence by ordering him
to proceed to France in the French merchant
ship Amphitrite (which had brought military
stores to the colonists), with officers and men,
to take charge of a large vessel to be purchased
by the American commissioners in Paris. A
highly flattering letter to the commissioners was
given to him, which concluded with the injunc-
tion not to disappoint Captain Joness wishes
on that occasion. But the dream of glory which
this commission awakened in his mind was soon
dispelled. The commander of the An~pkitrite
made objections to taking Jones and his com-
panions on Loard, and the project was aban-
doned for the time.
The summer was now advancing, and Cap-
tain Jones was restive in inaction, lie impor-
tuned Congress to allow him to serve his adopted
country in some capacity, and on the 14th of
June that body, by special resolution, invested
him with the command of the Banger, a new
ship built for the naval service at Portsmouth.
At the same time it resolved that the national
flag of the United States should be composed
of thirteen stripes, alternate red and white;
and that the union be thirteen stars, white in a
blue field, representing a new constellation.
a~nvxajc~. vnXselX. ~Axe ixex XXaxjxe XusA szavmXN mo~atva niX a~auxst ~Xve
ensign ol the repuoY~c over the iXec~s o~ the eu~fx-jvuxe-u~ tit thaveeasnSX io-~ \X~u N~Ct ~-ixe~
Bw~yer with his own hands, as he did the cob- in a Dutch port, and the government of Hol-
nuii{ il7sg on 6oara rfffe H aatfcimf er~t(eerr crwa~ rrrrwv/iThg tif~r & # gr~ ri1~ffi c~ A~i
months 6efore. 1!hih was pro6afi/y the ifrst giand; so Jbnes departed (or Nintes, to mate
display of our national flag from the mast of a cruise in the Banger until something better
i~4e isi ofA~rem2~~r !oJJowil?g wiwn wiTh a ing the employment of a ~)aThc iXee~ vml\er
good crew, eighteen heavy guns, very little spare DEstafng, then preparing to sailbr imei~s.
rigging for the ship or provisions for the men, Jones communicated a plan of operations in a
and only thirty gallons of rum to drink on letter to Silas Deane, which formed the basis
the voyage, he sailed from Portsmouth for of DEstaings instrnctions.
France. He captured two prizes on the way, The time had now arrived when the French
chased a fleet of ten sail for three days, and government could no longer conceal its inten-
arrived safely at Nantes in December. TIe im- tions. On the 6th of February, 1778, a treaty JOHN PAUL JONES. 151
at alliance between France and the newly-pro-
claimed republic was concluded at Paris; and
eight days afterward the flag of the United
States, displayed by the Ranger, was saluted by
nine guns from the flag-ship of the French ad-
miral Piquet. This was the third time that
the American ensign had been specially hon-
ored in the bands of the Kirkcndhright sailor.
The act now had great significance, for it was
a virtual acknowledgment hy a representative
of a great European power, of the independ-
ence of the United States.
Early in April, 1778, Captain Jones sailed
from the harbor of Brest for a cruise along the
coasts of the British islands. He ran into St.
Georges Channel, capturing or destroying every
vessel that fell in his way, and spreadinn the
wildest alarm along the shores of Ireland, Wales,
and the north of England. With a daring
equaled only by his consummate nautical skill,
he entered Belfast Lough on a windy night, to
surprise and capture the British sloop-of-war
Drake. The strong breeze freshened to a gale.
and foiled the invader. He then crossed the
broad channel, and on the evening of the 22d
of April anchored the Ranger between the Isle
of Man and White Haven. With two armed
boats he then proceeded to avenge some of the
burnings in America, by endeavoring to destroy
the shipping in the harbor where he first put on
the suit of a sailor-boy, nineteen years before.
Again he was foiled, not by the winds, but by
the extreme humanity of one of his officers and
his men, and the treason of a private who
JONES aEFOnE TIlE AMEnICAN CoMMI55IONEIZ5. 152 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
seems to have volunteered in the expedition
for that very purpose.
Jones commanded one of the boats, with fif-
teen men, and Lieutenant Wallingsford the
other, with the same number. They left the
Banger at midnight, and just before dawn
uieached White Haven. Each boat was sup-
plied with combustibles; and it was arranged
to fire the vessels in the harbor (then more than
two hundred in number) at separate points, and
to apply the torch to the town. The port was
guarded by two batteries, mounting fifteen pieces
of artillery each. These Jones undertook to
secure, while Wallingsford prepared for the con-
flagration. Jones scaled the breastworks of one
of the forts at the dark moments before dawn,
secured the sentinels, and spiked the guns with-
out alarming the people. Then, with a single
follower, he proceeded to the same duty at the
other fort, a quarter of a mile distant, leaving
his crew to fire the shipping on that side of the
harbor. On his return, he found his plans all
frustrated. Lieutenant Wallingsford thought
it wrong to destroy the private property of the
poor people, and the volunteers of Jones s im-
mediate party had lost their fire, and could do
nothing. The day had now dawned, and the
deserter had alarmed the town. The people,
panic-stricken, flew to the forts, but the spiked
guns were powerless. Jones was exasperated
to the last degree; and seizing a firebrand in a
neighboring house, he kindled a flame on board
one of the largest ships that lay in the midst
of others. To make the destruction sure, he
cast a barrel of tar upon the fire. The people,
seeing the smoke, rushed toward the wharf;
when Jones, with a pistol in each hand, and
entirely unsupported, kept the multitude at bay
until he got quietly into his boat, and under
cover of the dense smoke that crept over the
waters, escaped, with his companions, to the
Banger, without the sacrifice of a life or limb.
It was a cruel attempt, and can not be justified
even by the law of retaliation acknowledged
in the bloody code of war. It was an act akin
to the destruction of New London by Arnold,
when the spires of his birth-place were almost
in view. It was within sight of Pauls native
shores, where a loved mother and sisters dwelt
securely, and he could almost see the tall trees
of Arbigland that sheltered him in childhood.
In the town he sought to lay in ashes, were com-
panions of his youthhis friends and benefac-
torswho would all have been involved in the
common ruin. He pleaded the necessity of
teaching the English that not all their boasted
navy could protect their own coasts, and to
assure them that the scenes of distress which
they had occasioned in America might soo~t be
brought home to their own doors. That plea
was a palliation, but it had no force with the
people of White Haven. To them the name
of John Paul Jones became the synonym of all
wickedness, while David Freeman, the deserter,
was called the saviour of White Haven.
Jones now resolved to visit the scenes of his
boyhoodnot to embrace mother and sisters,
and, in friendly intercourse with neighbors, re-
call the pleasures of early youFh; but to impress
his friends and his enemies with a sense of his
power, and to benefit his adopted country by
securing a notable prisoner for exchange. The
Earl of Selkirk, his fathers early friend, was the
intended victim. His beautiful mansion stood
embowered upon a wooded promontory that
penetrated the Dee, known as St. Marys Isle,
and near the town of Kirkcudbright. The Ban-
ger boldly anchored in the channel of the Solway
at noon-day, and, with a single boat and a few
followers, Jones proceeded to attenil t the cap-
ture of the Earl. On landing, he was informed
by some laborers that his lordship was absent
from home. In disappointment, Jones ordered
his men back to the boat, when Simpson, his
lieutenant, a large and fiery man, proposed car-
rying off the plate of the Earl, in imitation of
the English on the American coasts. The gen-
erous soul of the commander was shocked at the
idea of petty plunder like that. There seemed
to be dignityencouraged by the usages of war
in burning a fleet or destroying a town, but
sordid meanness was involved in the robbery of
an innocent family of its paltry silver. And
then old associations came crowding upon his
memory, and quickened the pulses of his heart.
He was standing beneath the very oaks and
chestnuts that sheltered him in boyhoods pas-
times; and from the hand of Lady Selkirk he
had, in early youth, received nothing but kind-
ness. He could not do it; and again he ordered
Isis men to the boat. Simpson hotly expostu-
lated, and the menaciagmurmurs of the seamen
who longed for prize-money, made Jones per-
ceive it to be expedient to yield. He ordered
the business to be done as delicately and expe-
ditiously as possible. While they were gone, the
commander paced the green sward beneath those
old familiar trees, and there formed that plan of
justice which he afterward faithfully executed.
When the prizes of the Banger were sold, Jones
bought the plate of the Earl of Selkirk, and re-
stored it safely to the owner, accompanied by a
letter to his lady replete with the noblest senti-
ments of chivalric honor. The Earl publicly
acknowledged the act; and yet writers have been
base enough to blazon the robbery on the page
of history, but artfully to conceal the fact of
restoration.
Joness descent upon St. Marys Isle spread
great terror throughout the neighborhood, and
the frightened burghers of Kirkcudl~right drag-
ged a venerable twenty-four-pound cannon to
the beach at twilight, and kept it pointed all
night long, with deadly intent, upon what they
supposed to be the hull of the dreaded cruiser.
Dawn revealed the fact that the hated object
was an innocent rock, and that the Banger had
departed from the Frith. She was then far
away in the Irish sea, and at sunset the next
evening was battling manfully with the English
sloop-of-war Drake, off Carrickfergus. After a
bloody contest of an hour and a quarter the JOHN PAUL JONES. 153
British ship struck its colors. With his prize,
and two hundred prisoners, Jones sailed around
the north of Ireland and down its western coast
in search of adventures. He entered the harbor
of Brest on the 8th of May, and there he wrote
his extraordinary letter to Lady Selkirk.
Joness cruise taught England the useful les-
son that her marauding policy was a bad one,
for the Americans possessed the will and the
power for ample retaliation. The gallantry and
daring of the brave captain found a responsive
eulogy in the heart of every Frenchman, and
throughout the kingdom his name was an equiv-
alent for brilliant heroism. Yet at this full
meridian of coveted glory, a cloud of disap-
pointment appeared. The American commis-
sioners at Paris praised Jones to his hearts con-
tent, and he drew upon them for something
more substantial, to pay the expenses of his
crew and prisoners, and to refit the Ranger and
Drake for sea. The Continental treasury and
credit were then both low. The commissioners
had a meagre bank account, and Joness draft
was dishonored. For more than a month he
JONES AT ST. MARYS ISLE. 154 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
was in great distress; when wealthy private
friends relieved him, and he prepared for an-
other cruise. Almost every hour he conceived
new enterprises, all directed against the British
Isles. In the mean while, a brilliant snn-ray of
glory bnrst upon his path. The Indien, built at
Amsterdam9was now the property of the French
government. England and France had not yet
declared war against each other, and that ves-
sel, useless to the French government, was
offered to Jones. Franklin wrote that she would
be fitted out at Brest, and would sail under the
colors of the United States. The French Min-
ister of Marine invited Jones to Paris to com-
plete the arrangements, and with a joyful heart
he hastened thither, but to grasp another apple
of Sodom. The war decree went forth. Fran~e
needed all her vessels, and Jones could not he
placed in command of so fine a ship as th6 in-
dien, in the French service, without producing
great murmurs among the naval officers of the
kingdom. There was a double disappointment
in this, for, in expectation of having command
of a larger vessel, Jones had relinquished that
of the Ranger. During the summer and autumn
of 1778 that brave officer was upon the soil of
France without a ship, instead of being upon the
quarter-deck of a man-of-war, commensurate in
its appointments with his merits and skill.
Jones could never brook inaction, lie at
last became disgusted and half starved with
the innutritious aliment of official promises.
lie complained, remonstrated, denounced the
French Minister of Marine, and finally wrote a
direct appeal to the king. He7 could have had
employment in large ships as a privateer, but
he refused all offers of the kind, because, as he
expressed it, he was a servant of the Imperial
Republic of America, honored with the friend-
ship of Congress, and could not serve either
himself or his best friends in any private capaci-
tv. Dr. Franklin, who was always the firm
friend of Jones, urged his suit for employment,
at the French court, and received assurances
that a fine ship should be purchased immediate-
ly for the use of Jones. Relying upon this prom-
ise the captains letter was not handed to the
king, and the impatient sailor was directed to go
to LOrient, and choose a vessel from among a
number there. He asked for a fast-sailing ship,
for he expected to go in harms way. Day
after day and week after week he waited for
official orders to purchase, until he became al-
most frantic with desire, and heart-sick with
hopes deferred. One day, while in a coffee-
house at LOrient, he picked up a copy of Poor
Richards Almanac, the production of Dr. Frank-
lin. His eye rested upon the maxim, If you
would have your business done, go; if not,
send. It was an electric spark, which kindled
new and burning resolutions in the breast of the
chafed hero, and he resolved to go to court,
and not to send any more letters. He soon
stood in the presence, first of the Minister of
Marine, and then of the king himself. Ills ap-
peal was listened to with respect, and his im
portunities were heeded, for the sagacious min-
istry perceived that Jones might be exceedingly
useful to France by annoying the English. The
Dec de Dares, a ship of forty guns, was imme-
diately purchased at LOrient, and in compli-
ment to Dr. Franklin, and commemorative of
the influence of his maxim, Jones named the
vessel Boa Homine Richard. It was a half worn-
out merchant ship, quite unseaworthy, and in-
adequate to the service in which it was to be
engaged. But Jones was glad to find employ-
ment in any public vessel, for he could not en-
dure the corrosion of the rust of inaction.
A little squadron of three vessels besides the
Richard was soon in readiness at LOrient, each
ship bearing the American colors. The crews
were mostly Frenchmen, except that of Joness
flag-ship, which consisted of about four hundred.
It was a medley of representatives of almost
every nation of Europe, and even some Malays,
while the number of Americans did not exceed
eighty. When the squadron was almost ready
for departure, the American frigate Alliance ar-
rived with Lafayette, and at Joness request,
that vessel was added to his little fleet. It
proved an unfortunate alliance, for Landais, her
commander, was a bad man, and greatly injured
the service. Jones could not foresee trouble,
for he was unwarned; and he was preparing to
weigh anchor, and proceed toward the British
waters, when he was delighted by the intelli-
gence that Lafayette, charmed by the narra-
tives of the Commodores exploits, had asked
and obtained leave to accompany the expedition
with seven hundred land troops. It was further
announced to Jones that the chihf object of the
cruise would be the destruction of Liverpool,
and other large seaport towns of Great Britain.
It was precisely such an enterprise as he then
coveted, and visions of glory and renown cheer-
ed his spirit. Suddenly the political kaleido-
scope turned again. Information had reached
the French court that Spain was about to join
the alliance against Great Britain, and an inva-
sion of England, for the purpose of general con-
quest, was to be the next important move of the
Continental chess-players. Lafayette would be
needed on that more extended field of opera-
tions, and the expedition against Liverpool was
abandoned. A,ain disappointed and mortified,
Jones was ordered to cruise in the Bay of Bis-
cay, as a sort of coast-guard for France. Then
he first experienced the evils of a connection
with Landais; and after a short cruise he re-
turned to LOrient, barren of any special honors
in his vocation.
The French government and the American
commissioners were now as anxious for Com-
modore Jones to be afloat as he was for advent-
ure, for war was progressing vigorously. On
the 14th of August, 1779, the Commodore left
LOrient with a squadron of seven sail, on a
cruise off the coasts of Great Britain. He was
not out of sight of land before Landais becamc
disobedient and insolent. There was a fine field
for valorous achievements before the little fleet, JOHN PAUL JONES. 155
but the insubordination of the commander of the
Alliance, and its unhealthy influence upon oth-
ers, crippled its energies and greatly impaired
its usefulness. A heavy storm scattered the
squadron. The Boa Hoiarne Richard and Alli-
ance, with two smaller vessels, after taking some
prizes off the English and Irish coasts, were
joined at Cape Wrath, on the northern shores
of Scotland. Doubling the headlands beyond,
they sailed through Pentland Frith, between the
north of Scotland and the Orkneys, and early
in September spread great alarm along the east-
ern coast of Joness native country. He finally
afternoon of the 16th of September the little
squadron of four vessels was distinctly seen
from Edinburgh Castle. The wildest alarm
soon spread along each hank of the Forth, for
Jones was regarded as a pirate as savage and
cruel as any old Scandinavian sea-king. fle
prepared a message to the magistrates of Leith.
demanding a heavy contribution, and threaten-
ing the town with instant destruction if a favor-
able answer should not be given in half an hour.
Early the next morning the Boa Ho7a2ae Richard
appeared, bearing directly toward Kirkcaldy, on
the northern shore. The people believed that
entered the Frith of Forth, with the intention he was coming to plunder and destroy; and, at
of capturing some shipping at Leith, menacing their earnest solicitation, the minister of the
the town with the torch, and demanding a heavy town, an eccentric, and not always a very rev-
ransom toward the reimbursement, as Jones erential man, led his flock to the beach, and
said, which Britain owed to the much-injured kneeling down, thus p!ayed for deliverance
citizens of the United States. Late in the from the approaching cruiser:
PRAYER ON THX BEACH AT KIRECALnY. 156 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Now, deer Laird, dinna ye think it a shame
for ye to send this vile piret to rob our folk o
Kirkealdy, for ye ken theyre poor enow already,
and hae naething to spare. The wa the ween
blaws, hell be here in a jiffie, and wha kens
~vhat he may do? Hes nae too guid for ony
thing. Mickles the mischief hes dune already.
hell burn their hooses, tak their very claes, and
tin them to the sark; and, waes me! wha kens
but the bluidy villain may tak their lives! The
puir weemen are maist frightened out o their
wits, and the bairns skirling after them. I can-
na tholt it! I canna tholt it! I hae been
lang a faithfu servant to ye, Laird; but gin ye
diana turn the ween aboot, and blaw the scoun-
drel out o our gate, Ill na staur a fit, but will
just sit here till the tide comes. Sae, tak yere
wull ot.
While the minister was praying the white
caps began to dot the Frith. A heavy gale
swept over the waters, and Jones was com-
l)elled to abandon his enterprise, and put to sea.
The summons for the magistrates of Leith was
never delivered; and the good people of Kirk-
caldy always regarded that timely gale as an
answer to the earnest prayer of Mr. Shirra.
In after years, when complimented for the power
of that appeal, the old minister would humbly
say, I prayedthe Laird sent the weend
But the Providence that protected the people
of Leith and the neighborhood did not shield
the convoy of the Baltic fleet from Joness
wrath, less than a week afterward. Leaving
the Forth, he cruised off the month of the Hum-
her and the adjacent coasts, and destroyed many
coal vessels bound for London. On the morn-
ing of the 23d of September he unfortunately
fell in with the Alliance, with which he had
Parted company a few days before. His squad-
ron then consisted of that vessel, his own, and
the Pallas and Vengeance. He had been anx-
iously watching for the Baltic fleet; and on the
afternoon of that day it appeared off Flambor-
ough-Head, forty sail in number, and convoyed
l)y the new ship Serapis, mounting forty-four
guns, and the foaatess of Scarborough, of twenty
guns. The apparition of the American squad-
ron in the northern horizon caused much alarm
and confusion in that merchant fleet, and Jones
hastened to profit by it. Again the perverse
Landais was his evil genius. When Jones sig-
naled the squadron to form a line of battle for
attack, Lan dais refused compliance. Jones
then pressed sail on the Richard, and made
chase, followed by the Pallas and Vengeance.
The canvas of all was but slightly bent by the
gentle land-breeze at sunset, which scarcely
dimpled the smooth bosom of Bridlington Bay.
When the English perceived escape to be quite
impossible, their two armed vessels prepared for
action. Slowly the Bon Homme Richard and Se-
rapis approached each other, and at twilight
they were not yet within the reach of each oth-
ers guns. They were so near the land that hun-
dreds of people, who had collected on the shores,
saw the marine duelists approach for conflict.
For a little while the pall of night lay black
upon the land and water. All was darkness
and silence; and the excited, half-breathless
spectators on the shore saw no signs of the
lightning and the thunder that were soon to
burst from the brooding gloom in the east.
Then the golden disc of a full moon arose above
the arc of the North Sea, away toward the shores
of Denmark, and upon the shimmering curtain
of pale light around it the forms of the two
hostile vessels, black as ravens, were sharply
penciled. Slowly they approached each other,
like dioramic figures. Up went the red ensign
of the British navy, instead of the cross of St.
George, and was nailed to the flag-staff of the
Serapis. ~lnggishly in the gentle breeze flut-
tered the stripcs and stars over the Richard, as
she rounded to on the larboard quarter of her
antagonist, within pistol-shot distance. A glit-
ter and a glare flashed over the dark waters as
the lower deck ports of the Serapis were triced
up, and displayed two complete batteries, and
a well-armed spar deck, all lighted and cleared
for action. The Richard displayed her heavy
guns at the same time, when the English com-
mander hailed, What ship is that ? Jones
hurled an eighteen-pound shot in reply, that
went crashing through a port of the Serapis and
splintered a gun-carriage on the leeside of her
lower deck. The tempest-cloud was now riven,
and the lightning and the thunder of two heavy
broadsides flashed and boomed over the smooth
waters. Thus was begun one of the most ter-
rible sea-fights recorded by history.
The Richard had a gun-room battery on her
lower deck, of six old eighteen pounders, which
had served faithfully in the French navy for
thirty years. At the first discharge two of them
were bursted, killing almost every man in the
gun-room, and partially demolishing the deck
above, while the heavy round-shot of the Serapis
made severe breaches in the decaying timbers
of the old vessel. Jones instantly ordered his
lower deck ports to be closed, and that battery
was abandoned. The firing was incessant, and
each ship strove earnestly to gain an advantage,
in position, over the other. There was not
wind enough to aid skillful seamanship, and in
a few minutes the Richard ran into the Serapis
on her larboard quarter, and their spars and
rigging became entangled. The great guns of
the combatants were now almost useless, and
Jones, at the head of his Americans, attempted
to board the enemy. After a sharp and close
contest on the quarter-deck, he was repulsed,
and Captain Pearson, of the Serapis, who could
not see the American flag in the midst of the
smoke, cried out, Has your ship struck ?
Jones instantly replied, I have not yet begun
to fight!
The vessels now separated, and Jones made
an attempt to lay the Richard athwart the hawse
of the Serapis. He failed, and a moment after-
ward the two ships lay broadside to broadside,
the muzzles of their guns touching each other.
The Serapis was much the better sailer, and JOHN PAUL JONES. 157
Joness hope of success was in his present po-
sition, so he lashed the ships together, and in
that close embrace they poured thcir tcrrible
volleys into each other with awful cffcct. It
was now half-past eight in the evening, and the
conflict had raged for an hour. It grew more
furious as the flow of blood increased; and from
deck to deck of the entangled vessels the com-
batants rushed madly, fighting like demons with
pike, and pistol, and cutlass. Jones seemed
almost omnipresentnow directing the gunners.
now urging tbe musketeers in the tops to vigor-
ous action, and at times engaged in the thickest
of a terrible hand-to-hand fight. The Richard
and her crew suffered terribly, yet they fought
on. She had been pierced by several eighteen-
pound halls below water, and leaked badly; yet
her pumps were untouched, and the warning
voice of her carpenter was unheeded.
A new enemy now appeared. When the
FIOHT ON THE DECK OF TIlE SELIAPIS. 158 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Richard gave chase to the Serapis, and the
Pallas bore down upon the Countess of Scar-
l)orouf/h, Landais placed the Alliance at a safe
distance, and with the seeming disinterested-
ness of an umpire he looked calmly on when
the unequal contest began. When it had raged
for ahout two hours, and the moon had ascend-
ed high enough in the unclouded sky to flood
the vessels and the sea with light and make
their condition clear, he ran down toward the
grappled ships under easy sail, fired a broad-
side into the Richards qnarter, and killed sev-
eral of her men. As he ranged past her lar-
hoard he gave another raking fire, with fatal
effect; and thus he continued pouring death
upon that crippled, shattered, sinking ship,
while her signal-lights of recognition were in
fnll view, and despairing voices from her deck
shouted supplications, in Gods name, for him
to forhear, for he was bruising the wrong ves-
sel. It was the right ship for him. He made
no mistake, hut was practicing foulest villainy
hlackest treason. He hoped to kill Jones,
make an easy prize of the Serapis, and gain all
the honors of a great victory. There was a God
of justice who defended the right, and the mis-
creant failed. The courage of Jones qnailed not
in that dreadful hour, nor were his wonderful
efforts slackened, though the guns of the Al-
liance had swept many of a fine corps of marines
from the Richards poop, and had aided the
enemy in silencing every one of his great guns
except two nine-pounders on the quarter-deck.
Soon the commander there was badly wounded,
and his men were scattered. Jones took his
l)lace, collected a few brave fellows, and shifted
one of the larboard guns to a proper position.
These were the only cannons fired from the
Richard during the remainder of the action.
They swept the deck of the Serapis with grape
and cannister shot, and against her main-mast
double-headed shot were hurled with destructive
effect. The marines in the tops of the Richard
soon killed or dispersed those of the enemy,
and they cast hand-grenades with such energy
and success, that the Serapis was set on fire in
a dozen different places at the same time. One
of the grenades ignited some cartridges, and
the explosion killed twenty men, and maimed
as many more.
In the midst of the appalling scene, when
both ships were on fire, the wounded carpenter
of the Richard said she must sink. The fri~ht-
cued gunner ran aft to pull down the American
fing, hut a round shot had carried away the en-
sign-yard an hour hefore. Then the gunner
cried Quarter! for Gods sake quarter! Our
ship is sinking ! He continued his cries until
Jones silenced him by hurling a discharged pis-
tol at his head, which fractured his skull, and
sent him headlong down the hatchway.
Do you call for quarter ? shouted Captain
Pearson to Jones.
Never ! responded the lion-hearted Com-
modore.
Then Ill give none, replied Pearson, and
immediately sent a party to hoard the Richard.
They were met at the rail by Jones, with pike
in hand, and supposing he had many like him
at his hack, the enemy retreated. At that mo-
ment there was the sound of many feet rushin0
to the upper deck of the Richard. The master-
at-arms, influenced hy either treachery or hu-
manity, had released all the prisoners on hoard.
One of them had escaped to the Serapis, and
informed the commander of the utterly crippled
condition of the Richard. Encouraged hy the
intelligence, Pearson renewed the hattie with
increased vigor. The situation of Jones was
now extremely critical. His ship was sinking;
his heavy guns were all silenced, except where
he was fighting; one of his own squadron was
treacherously sailing round and raking his shat-
tered vessel with deadly hroadsides; some of
his officers were determined on surrendering;
others were crying for quarter; and a large
number of prisoners were flee to do as they
pleased. Nothing ever appeared more hopeless
than his prospect of success. But he had re-
sources within himself, at such an hour, pos-
sessed hy few men. lie saw the affright of the
prisoners at the idea of sinking, and ordered
them to the pumps to save their lives. As he
expected, the first law of nature overcame their
desire for liherty and duty to their king. They
oheyed, and did not attempt to take advantage
of the few efficient men left of the Richard.
Suddenly, now, the flames hegan to creep up
the rigging of the Serapis, and in their glare,
and the full light of the moon, Jones saw that
her mainmast had heen hewn almost asunder
by his double-headed shots. He immediately
renewed the assault at that point, and the tall
mast reeled. Captain Pearson perceived his
danger, and lacking the courage and obstinacy
of Jones in the moment of great peril, he struck
his flag, and surrendered to his really weaker
foe. It is painful, he said, in a surly man-
ner, to Jones, to deliver up my sword to a man
who has fought with a halter around his neck.
Jones preserved his temper, and courteously re-
plied, as he returned the weapon: Sir, you
have fought like a hero; and I make no doubt
but your sovereign will reward you in the most
ample manner. Even so it happened, for
knighthood awaited Captain Pearson, at the
hands of King George the Third, because of his
bravery on that occasion. It is said that when
Jones was told of the honor conferred upon his
antagonist, he remarked: Well, he deserves
it; and if I fall in with him again, I will make
a lord of him
For almost three hours the battle had raged
with unabated fury, and fire was now rapidly
consuming both ships. All hands were at once
employed in extinguishing the flames. Soon
after the English commander went on board the
Richard the vessels were disengaged. The en-
tangled spars and rig~ing had kept the hewn
mast of the Serapis from falling; now it went
down, with a terrible crash, carrying with it the
mizen topmast. The Richard was damaged past JOHN PATJI~ JONES. 159
recovery. Jones said, in his report, The rud-
der was cut entirely off the stern-frame and
transoms were alniust (Vt entirely away, and
the timbers by the lower deck, especially from
the mainmast toward the stern, being greatly
decayed with age, were mangled beyond my
lon~er of description; and a person must have
l)een an eye-witness to form a just idea of the
tremendous scene of carnage, wreck, and ruin
which every where appeared. Prisoners and
men were all transferred to the Serapis, and on
the evening of the 25th, the wreck of the Bon
iloianie Richard went down into the deep val-
leys of the North Sea.
The Baltic fleet had escaped behind Flam-
borough-Head during the fight, because the Al-
liance and Vengeance were remiss in duty; hut
the Gountess of Scarborough had surrendered to
the Pallas after an hours conflict, notwithstand-
ing the wicked Landais had poured some deadly
shots into that victor also, during the fight, and
killed several of her men. After tossing about
oa the North Sea for ten days, Jones ran into
the Texel with his little squadron and prizes, a
few hours before eleven English ships of war,
that had been sent after him, appeared in the
offing.
The victory of the Richard over the Serapis,
and the other extraordinary exploits of Jones
during his remarkable cruise, caused a burst of
applause wherever the facts were known. He
was received at Amsterdam with the wildest
enthusiasm. Crowds pressed around him with
huzzas and compliments wherever he appeared.
The cautious Franklin, who always took enthu-
siasm hy the throat when it tempted him to toss
up his cocked hat, wrote to him from Passy:
For some days after the arrival of your ex-
press, scarce any thing was talked of at Paris
and Versailles but your cool conduct, and per-
severing bravery during that terrible conflict.
You may believe that the impression on my
mind was not less strong than that of others;
but I do not choose to say in a letter to your
self all I think on such an occasion. The En-
glish Ministers were, of course, terribly enraged;
but its liberal press and its best statesmen spoke
out manly applause; and the epithet Pirate,
applied to Jones by the Premier, and echoed
by Sir Joseph Yorke, the British Minister at the
Hague, was hissed with scorn by every generous
man. The French King gave him a flattering
reception at court, and a few months afterward
presented him with an elegant gold-mounted
sword, upon which, in the midst of blended
emblems of France and America, was the hon-
orable inscription: VINDIcATI MAR15 Lunovi-
CUs XVI., REMUNERATOR STRENUO viNDICI
Louis XVI. rewarder of the valiant assertor
of the freedom of the Sea. In America his
name and deeds were uttered by every tongLe,
and eight years afterwardtardy justice it is
truethe American Congress gave him a gold
medal in commemoration of his great victory.
We need not dwell upon the important polit-
ical events which were hastened by Joness tak-
ing refuge in a Dutch port while Holland was at
peace with England, for it is a record of history
that the rupture between those two governments
was accelerated by that act. Nor will we stop
to view the course of Landais, whom we may
meet in the Western hemisphere in after years;
nor follow the brave Commodore through all
his vexatious, until he was deprived of the com-
mand of the trophy of his valor, the Serapis, and
transferred to that of the Alliance, to subserve
the interests of wily diplomatists, and, without
a squadron, reduced to the mortifying alterna-
tive of being driven from the Texel or battered
by the cannons of a Dutch fort. While awaiting
a fair wind to leave that purgatory, as he
called it, Jones received from the French Min-
ister of Marine, t.hrough a peer of France, an
offer of a commission to command the Alliance
as a privateer, under the French colors. The
indignation of the high-souled Commodore at
this proposal was boundless. He regarded it as
a premeditated insult, and refused it with the
oo~n MEDAL AWARDET) TO JONES. 160 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
haughtiest disdain. It is a matter of the high-
est astonishment, he said, in his letter of re-
fusal to the Duke, that after so many compli-
ments and fair professions, the court should offer
the present insult to my understanding, and sup
~ capahle of disgracing my present com-
mission. To Dr. Franklin, in whose care he
sent the epistle, he wrote: I hope the within
copy of my letter to the Duc de in Vaugnyon
will meet your approhation; for I am per-
~naded that it never could he your intention or
wish that I should he made the tool of any great
rascal whatever, or that the commission of
America should he overlaid hy the dirty piece
of parchment which I have this day rejected!
They have played upon my good-humor too long
already, hut the spell is at last dissolved. They
would play me with the assurances of the per-
sonal and particular esteem of the king, to in-
duce me to do what would render me contempt-
ible even in the eyes of my own servants. Ac-
customed to speak untruths themselves, they
would also have me to give under my hand that
I am a liar and a scoundrel. They are mis-
taken; and I would tell them, what you did to
your naughty servant: We have too contempt-
ible an opinion of each others understanding to
live together! These were the indignant cx-
l)ressions of a noble naturethe words of a man
who had becom.e painfnlly acquainted with the
hollowness of Bourhon professions, and the false
honor of Bourhon satellites. His letter hrought
an obsequious apology, and many sweet words,
which softened Joness anger, hut did not deceive
his judgment. He, however, changed the res-
olution he had made of returning to America;
and at the close of Decemher he was in the
British waters, making even heavy line-of-battle
ships tremhle at his presence, for he was regard-
ed as
A malignant comet, bearing in its tail
Death, famine, earthquakes, pestilence and ruin.
But the Alliance was a poor sailer; and after
a short and fruitless cruise, Jones anchored in
the haihor of LOrieut. There he found the
Serapis, and at once he solicited Dr. Franklin
to huy her for the American service, and to have
the damaged Alliance thoroughly repaired. The
Minister of Congress had no power, either in
instructions or money, to comply. Jones was
troubled, for he was anxious to he on a cruise
with a squadron, or at least in a worthy ship.
Ostensibly to urge the sale of his prizes, hut
chiefly for the purpose of seeking aid from the
French government in accomplishing what
Franklin could not authorize, he appeared at
court, where he was graciously received hy the
king, flattered by the great, and caressed by the
fair. He had the pardonable vanity of loving
IMaise and personal honors, and while he de-
spised the courtiers who hovered around roy-
alty, he was not unwilling to partake of the
pleasure; at times, of basking in the sunlight of
kingly favor. His stay in Paris was not long,
but it was sufficiently protracted to allow his
evil genius, Landais, and an influential Amen-
can, who seemed to delight in intriguing against
Dr. Franklin, to work great mischief at LOri-
ent. The officers of the Alliance were in a state
of mutiny on Joness return, and had chosen
Landais as their commander. Jones was not
much chagrined, however, for he saw in this
movement a chance for him yet to have com-
mand of the Serapis, to carry stores and arms
from France to the United States; and he did
not very warmly second the efforts of Dr. Frank-
lin and the French government to arrest Lan-
dais, and prevent his sailing.
Landais departed in the Alliance, and Jones
was soon afterward placed in command of the
Ariel; another vessel laden with arms and muni-
tions of war for the army under Washington.
After great delay, he left LOrient early in Oc-
tober, and thirty hours later he encountered a
terrible gale. The Ariel was dismantled by
the wind, and reduced to a mere hull, with no-
thing but her bowsprit left, and in that condition
she was held by anchors to the windward of
the reef off Penmarque Point for sixty hours.
Jones then worked her into LOrient without
the loss of a man. There again he plied Dr.
Fianklin and several French magnates with
letters concerning the command of a larger
ship, service in the British waters, and prize-
money: but he was ordered to America, with
dispatches for Congress (the arms were so much
damaged in the gale that they were not sent),
and early in December he was ready to sail. He
gave a splendid entertainment on board, put to
sea, and arrived at Philadelphia on the 18th of
February, 1781, after an absence of more than
three years. On the voyage he fought and con-
quered an English armed vessel, but he was
compelled to write in his journal: The English
captain may properly be called a knave, because,
after he had surrendered his ship, begged for
and obtained quarter, he basely ran away, con-
trary to the laws of naval war, and the practice of
civilized nations. This reminds us of the com-
plaint of a British officer, that Marion would
not fight like a gentleman or Christian.
Jones was received at Philadelphia with every
demonstration of respect, and twenty-four hours
after his arrival lie was summoned before the
Board of Admiralty, to give information con-
cerning the tardy arrival of the Alliance, and
other vessels, that were to bring French arms
and stores. Much to his satisfaction, he found
Landais in utter disgrace, and himself high in
favor with Congress. Before he left France, he
was intrusted by the king with a small packet
for Luzerne, the French Minister at Philadel-
phia. It contained the cross of the Military
Order of Merit, to be given to ,Tones if Congress
should consent. While he was preparing his
answers for the Board of Admiralty, Congress
resolved that his capture of the Serapis was
attended with circumstances so brilliant as to
excite general applause and admiration. It
was also resolved
That the Minister Plenipotentiary of these
United States at the court of Versailles coin- JOhN PAUL JONES. 161
inunicate to his Most Christian Majesty the
high satisfaction Congress has received from
the conduct and gallant behnvior of Captain
John Paul Jones, which have merited the atten-
tion and approbation of his Most Christi n Ma-
Jesty; and that his Majestys offer of adorning
Captain Jones with a cross of Military Merit is
highly acceptable to Congress.
A few days afterward, M. Luzerne gave a
slJlendid entertainment to the members of Con-
gress and the most distinguished citizens of
Philadelphia; and in their presence he,in the
name of his king, knighted our hero, and in-
vested him with the decoration of the Military
Order of Merit. That was an hour of proud
triumph to Jones, and he felt remunerated for
many vexatious and disappointments. Although
he was a Republican in sentiment, to his hearts
core, his vanity was always delighted with the
title of Chevalier, which his knighthood gave
him, and in all the vicissitudes of after-life he
wore that hadge of honor. A few weeks later,
on the adoption of the report of the Board of
Admiralty by Congress, Jones was farther hon
JONES INV STED WITH TIlE oauza OF ~SILITAl1Y IMERIT.
VOL. XJ.No. 62.L
I 1G2 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
ored by a resolution that thanks should be given
him for the zeal, prudence, and intrepidity with
which he hath supported the honor of the Amer-
ican flag.
In June following, Jones was appointed com-
mander of the new ship-of-the-line America, then
in progress of construction at Portsmouth, New
Hampshire. It was the largest ever owned by
Congress, and Jones felt that he was thusvirtually
made chief captain in the navy, with the implied
relative rank of rear admiral. He was satisfied
that Congress had done what it could in his fa-
voy, and he left Philadelphia for Portsmonth
with delight. On his way he visited the camp of
Washington, in Westchester County, near the
Hutison, and was cordially received by the Coin-
mnander-in-chief. Jones displayed his decora-
tion at his button-hole, and Washington court-
eously suggested that it might offend some of
the staid New England people. The Commo-
dore tucked his jewel hcneath his waistcoat, and
hastened to Portsmouth, only to ex,perience
more vexatious delays and severe disappoint-
ments. The work on the America was progress-
ing at a snails pace, and months rolled away
before she was ready to be launched. The day
when that event would take place had almost
arrived, when a French squadron that was to
convey a part of Rochambeaus army to the
West Indies entered Boston harbor in a storm,
and one of the finest of the vessels was stranded
and lost. The beams of peace were now glim-
mering in the eastern horizon, and the America
might not be wanted for active service. So
Congress embraced the opportunity to testify to
France its gratitude for its alliance, and at once
l)resented that fine new ship to the king. Jones
was greatly disappointed, yet he manifested a
thoroughly patriotic spirit. On the 5th of No-
~ember, 1782, he displayed the French and
American flags over the stern of the America,
launched her into the waters of Portsmouth har-
bor, and the next morning formally delivered
her into the keeping of her future commander.
The dream of glory which had so often flitted
before the vision of the brave Chevalier now
vanished again, and he obtained permission to
accompany the French fleet to the West Indies
as a volunteer. After an absence of several
months he returned to Philadelphia, sick and
dispirited, but was soon restored to vigor under
the soothing care of the Moravian Sisters of
Bethlehem. In the autumn following he sailed
fcsr France in a packet-ship, with authority from
Congress to obtain all prize-money to which
himself and those who had served under him
were entitled. His proceedings in the matter
were to be under the direct supervision of the
American Minister at the French court. The
packet was driven by a gale into Plymouth har-
bor, but the preliminary treaty of peace having
been signed before his arrival, the pirate was
allowed to journey to London, and from thence
to Paris, without molestation. No doubt many
in England would have been glad to award him
the fate of Captain Kidd at Execution-dock.
With his usual zeal and perseverance Jones
prosecuted the business of his mission, in the
midst of many vexatious and disappointments,
and finally brought it to a close, and found him-
self with money in both pockets, early in the
autumn of 1785. Although accused of exacting
excessive commissions for services as agent in
procuring the prize-money, his accounts were
approved by Mr. Jefferson (then American Min-
ister in France), and subsequently by Congress~
He had some difficulty with the Board of Treas-
ury concerning them, but that Commission con-
cluded to allow his claims, inasmuch as he had
received and spent the money.
The Chevalier now became quite a lion
with the great and fair in the French metrop-
olis, and he reveled in e~se and honors with a
delight quite inconsistent with his republican
professions. For a time he was completely in-
toxicated by flattery and the free use of money,
and the dream lasted almost as long as his purse
remained plethoric. He played the courtier and
the lover with equal fondness, until, in the pres-
ence of a great practical man, king and minis-
ters were suddenly forgotten. That man was
Ledyard, the eminent American traveler, lie
had conceived a magnificent scheme of traffic
in furs between the Pacific coast of North Amer-
ica and China, and he proposed a partnership
with Jones. The Chevalier saw a glorious har-
vest of gain and adventure in the enterprise, and
heartily entered into the plan. It was found
impossible to secure the co-operation of capital-
ists to a sufficient extent, and after considerable
progress had been made, the enterprise was
abandoned. That rich field of commerce was
left for John Jacob Astor and others to occupy,
a quarter of a century later.
The magic spell of royal enchantment being
now broken, Jones started for Copenhagen, to
attempt the settlement of some accounts with
the Danish government in relation to prize-
money; but his funds failed when he had pro-
ceeded as far as Brussels, and he turned back.
In tIme summer of 1787 he visited the United
States, when he procured the final settlement of
his accounts, and busied himself for some time
in planning various schemes for the good of his
adopted country. Among others, he submitted
to Mr. Jay, then Minister for Foreign Affairs, a
plan for releasing many American seamen who
had been captured by Algerine corsairs, and
were suffering the horrors of barbarian slavery
on the African coast of the Mediterranean Sea.
He asked for authority to execute his plans;
but the government, then in the midst of great
political and financial entanglements, could not
second his benevolent efforts. After a little
affray in the streets of New York with his old
enemy Landais, Jones sailed for Europe, bear-
ing to Mr. Jefferson dispatches of much import-
ance to himself. One was an order to procure
the gold medal which Congress had awarded to
the Chevalier; and another contained instruc-
tions for Mr. Jefferson to employ Commodore
Jones, or sonie other person, to prosecute cer JOHN PAUL JONES. I ~i
tam claims for prize-money at the eourt of Den-
mark.
Jones passed several days with Mr. Adams
in London, and then hastened to Paris. On
the evening of the day of his arrival he had an
interview with Mr. Jefferson; and he left the
presence of the minister with his mind filled
with a more brilliant vision of glory than his
ambition had ever ventnred to aspire to. The
Empress of Russia was then waging war against
the Turks, and her fleet in the Black Sea had
met with some severe reverses. The Rnssian
minister at the French court at once intimated
to Mr. Jefferson his earnest desire to procure
the services of the Chevalier for his royal mis-
tress. He had written to his government, that
If her Imperial Majesty should confide to
Commodore Jones the chief command of her
fleet on the Black Sea, with carte blanche, he
would answer for it, that in less than a year
Jones would make Constantinople tremble.
This intimation Mr. Jefferson communicated to
the Chevalier, and his imagination was fired by
the prospect of glory, wealth, and honor that
awaited him. But having learned, by sad ex-
perience, some of the subtle arts of diplomacy,
he concealed his emotions. When the Russian
minister sounded him on the subject he was
coy, and pretended to be indifferent, while he
was burning with impatience to grasp the cov-
eted prize. A few days afterward he received
his credentials from Mr. Jefferson to visit the
court of I)enmark on the subject of prize-money;
hut on the morning of his departure he took the
precaution to breakfast with a Polish friend,
where he was sure to meet the Russian minis-
ter, who held that golden apple he so much de-
sired.
The Chevalier was cordially welcomed at the
1)aaish court. He supped with the royal fam-
ily and threescore of guests, flirted with the
Princess Royal, who honored him with her
smiles, and received the homage of the assem-
bled grandees. But when he attempted to
enter upon the business of his mission he found
many difficulties, and he finally made a for-
mal abandonment of the negotiations. On the
same day he received a l)atent from the king
for an annual pension of fifteen hundred crowns.
as an acknowledgment for the respect he had
shown for the Danish flag while he had com-
mand in the European seas. The coincidence
was unfortunate, and the enemies of the Cheva-
lier openly charged him with receiving a bribe.
The patent proved to be a worthless piece of
parchment, for Jones never received a thaler
from the king. The true reason for his sus-
pending the negotiations, doubtless, was the fact
that the Russian minister at Copenhagen had
made a direct proposition to Jones to enter the
naval service of Catharine with the relative rank
and pay of a major-general, lie requested the
Chevalier to repair immediately to St. Peters-
burg to receive from the Empress his commis-
sion, and instructions to take command on the
Black Sea, under the directions of Prince Pu-
temkin, then with a large army in southern
Russia. Although the Chevalier aspired to the
rank of rear-admiral, and did not like to be sec-
ond in command, yet he accepted the proposi-
tion; and with a thousand ducats in his pocket,
placed there by the Russian minister to defray
the expenses of his journey, he set out for the
Romanoff court, by way of Sweden, in mid-
April, 1788.
Having remained a single day in Stockholm,
Jones went to Gresholm to embark; but there
was too much ice in the Gulf of Bothuin to
allow him to cross it, or even to reach the
Aland Islands in the Channel. Impatient to
receive the awaiting honors, and believing Cath-
anne to be as anxious as himself for the inter-
JONES cuossiac THE nALTiC. 164 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
view, he resolved to attempt doubling the south- npou the horizon. All that day they skirted
era points of the ice-field in the open Baltic. along the ice with a strong wind from the Swed-
For thnt purpose he hired an open passage-boat ish shore. During the succeeding night it in-
about thirty feet in length, and a smaller one creased to a gale. In the gloom the small
as a tender. His boatmen were not aware of boat was swamped, and the two men in it were
his intentions until they were opposite Stock- rescued from drowning with great difficulty.
holm at twilight, when they refused to venture. Joness courage never forsook him in the hour
With a pistol in each hand, the Chevalier de- of danger. All night long he sat at the stern
dared he would shoot the first man who should as coxswain, and watched his little compass
dare to disobey his orders, and they complied. calmly by the light of a carriage lantern. On
All that night they had a pleasant voyage, and the fourth day of the voyage they entered th
early the next morning they saw the far distant Finland gulg and arrived at Revel in safety.
shores of Finland marking a dim, irregular line Having well rewarded his boatmen and pro-
JOYES BEFORE THE EMPRESS cATHARIBE. JOHN PAUL JONES. 1A15
vided for their return, Jones pressed forward
toward the Neva, and arrived at the Russian
capital on the evening of the 4th of May.
There, unexpected honors were prepared for
him. Nobles, statesmen, and foreign ministers
crowded to see him, and pay homage to his
genius and fame. Their admiration had heen
increased by his last daring adventure in the
Baltic, and the court was enthusiastic in its re-
ception of the hero. Catharine invited him to
a private audience; and two days after his arri-
val, he was publicly presented hy Count Segur,
the French emhassador, to the Empress, who
sat in state in the midst of many of the nohility
of both sexes, and the imperial guards. his
reception was all that his heart could desire,
and his happiness was made complete hy re-
ceiving the coveted commission of rear-admiral
in the Russian navy. That appointment ex-
cited the jealousy of other foreign officers in
the service of the Empress, and thirty commis-
sioned Englishmen threatened to resign rather
than he associated with that English pirate
and smuggler. Their bluster was disregarded.
and on the 7th of May the Chevalier left St.
Petershurg for the head-quarters of Prince Po-
temkin, hearing a letter from the Empress to
that functionary, and having his pockets well
filled with ducats to defray the expenses of his
journey.
Potemkin was proud and haughty; so was
Jones. Yet they met with a determination to
be pleased with each other, and all would have
went well had not the jealousy of other for-
eign officers, whom Jones superseded, caused
trouble. The Chevaliers worst enemy was the
Prince of Nassau, Li~gen, a needy adventurer
with very moderate talents, hut whom Potemkin
deli~,hted to honor. The prince was then pre-
paring for an important movement against the
ATTACK ON T~E TURKISH GALLEYS.
A 166 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Turks. One of the keys to power in the Black
Sea was the strongly fortified town of Oczakow,
at the junction of the Dneiper and Bog, then
in possession of the Mussulmans. Potemkin
had determined to attack it by land and water.
The Russian navy capable of operating in the
Liman, at the month of the Dneiper, consisted
of the line-of-battle ship Wolodorner and other
smaller vessels, and a flotilla of gun-boats. Jones
was placed in command of the fleet, and Nassau
of the flotilla. By great efforts Potemkin had
effected an apparently friendly relation between
the different commanders; and at about the
middle of June, while the army was concen-
trating in front of Gezakow, he ordered an at-
tack to be made upon the Turkish fleet. In
the engagement that ensued, Jones displayed
the greatest skill and valQr, and the victory
achieved would have been far more decisive if
he had been the sole commander. On the 1st
of July, the siege was commenced upon the
doomed town by the combined land and naval
forces. Having placed his flag-ship in proper
position, Jones entered an armed boat and
dashed like a furious rocket into the midst of
some Turkish galleys within gunshot distance
of the enemys flotilla and the heavy guns of
the batteries of Oczakow. With that fearless
energy which always marked him in the hour
of great peril, the Admiral led his men to quick
and complete victory over two of the galleys,
one of which belonged to the Capitan Pacha.
The Turks were utterly dismayed by his mad
courage, which seemed as indifferent to danger
as if inspired by their own dark fatalism. They
shrank in terror at his approach. In the midst
of an incessant cannonade he fired four other
galleys, and then returned to the Wolodorner
with fifty-two prisoners, without losing a man.
Nassau, in the mean while, who had partici-
pated in the fight, had hastened to the head-
quarters of Potemkin to tell of the brilliant
victory and to magnify his own exploits.
When the rewards for valor were distributed,
Rear-admiral Jones received the decoration of
the order of St. Anne, the gratuity of a years
pay, and a gold-mounted sword. Nassau, Po-
temkins favorite, was decorated with the higher
military order of St. George, and enriched by
the gift of a valuable estate having almost four
thousand serfs upon it. The Admiral was dis-
satisfied, and was not slow in making his feel-
ings known to Potemkin. He also ventured,
during some subsequent naval operations, to
express his opinions freely concerning proposed
measures, forgetting that he was dealing with
a man who was really the Czar of Russia in
power, for he was the acknowledged ma~ter of
the Empress. His enemies, who conceale~heir
real feelings from Potemkin, were ut the same
time busy at the ear of the prince with plausible
stories concerning Joness ambition and inde-
pendence. They even told him that the Admi-
ral had ridiculed his operations on land in the
siege of Oczakow, and was endeavoring to win
officers to his interest, so as to supersede Po
temkin. While the prince was irritated by these
reports, Jones happened, injudiciously, to ob-
ject to some order from head-quarters, and in
his frank manner, as if addressing a French or
American officer of equal rank with whom he
was co-operating, he concluded a note to Potem-
kin with these words: Every man who thinks,
is master of his own opinion; this is mine.
Potemkin was not in the habit of allowing any
body to have an opinion but himself; and the
practical commentary upon that unfortunate
text, which Jones was compelled to read, was
the arrival of Admiral Mordwinoff the follow-
ing day with orders to take command of all the
naval forces, and bearing the following signifi-
cant note to the Chevalier from the offended
prince: According to the special desire of her
Imperial Majesty, your service is fixed in the
northern seas; and as this squadron and flotilla
are placed by me under the orders of Yice-ad-
miral MordwinoW your excellency may, in con~
sequence, proceed on the voyage directed, es~
pecially as the squadron in the Liman can not
now, on account of the advanced season, be
united with that of Sevastopol.
Jones well knew that remonstrance would be
in vain, and that a multiplicity of words would
make his case worse; so, after procuring from
Potemkin a complimentary letter to the Em-
press, and assurances of his friendship, the Ad-
miral departed for St. Petersburg, where he ar-
rived at near the close of December. In the
mean while, Oczakow had been stormed at a
time of extreme cold; the Turks had become
panic-stricken; the town and fortresses had sur-
rendered, and thirty thousand persons, without
distinction of age or sex, had been cruelly mas-
sacred by order of Potemkin. When Jones
heard of it, he rejoiced that he had been spared
participation in a scene of such foul inhuman-
ity; and he was further comforted by the intel-
ligence that his successor had been guilty of
many gross blunders in the management of the
fleet and flotilla, and was in utter disgrace with
the haughty Potemkin.
Jones obtained an interview with the Em-
press on the day after his arrival, and asked for
employment. She was gracious in her manner,
but told him he must wait for the arrival of
Potemkin. The impatient Admiral employed
the seven weeks delay in forming projects for
his future course. He laid plans before Cath-
anne for extending her commercial relations
with Christendom, and for pushing her con-
quests in the direction of Constantinoplethe
goal of Russian ambition even to this day.
These plans were submitted to Potemkin, on
his arrival, and were dismissed with a compli-
ment; The Admiral soon perceived that his
popularity at court was waning. Slanders of
every kind had been circulated by the English
in the Russian capital during his absence, and
he had no means at hand for refuting them ex-
cept simple denials. The jealousies of other
foreigners aided in poisoning the mind of the
Empress, and at length (aswas afterward proven) JOHN PAUL JONES. 167
a person high in esteem at court bribed a worth-
less woman to accuse the Admiral of the crime
of having made an indecent assault upon her
daughter. Already invitations for him to dine
at court had hecome less and less frequent.
Now his name was stricken from the list of
guests; and when, early in April, he went to
pay his respects to the Empress, he was uncere-
moniously driven away. His friends suddenly
abandoned him. Every door was shut against
him. People avoided speaking to him in the
streets. His servants left him; and in that cap-
ital where, only a year before, he had been
courted and honored by all ranks, he had but
one solitary friend, who shut his ears to the
voice of malice and falsehood. That friend
was Count Segur, the French Embassador, who
knew him well and felt certain of his innocence.
He was not that real enemy, a passive friend,
but exerted himself continually and successfully
in disabusing the mind of Catharine and procur-
ing the restoration of the brave Admiral to her
favor.
New projects now revolved in the teeming
brain of Jones. New visions of glory appeared
in his dim future, and he again dreamed of hon-
ors to be won as commander of the Russian
navy in the Black Sea. But envy and malice
never sleep, and are ever busy. English influ-
ence was potential at the Russian court. The
Empress was convinced of the innocence of
Jones, but she deemed it expedient not to give
him employment that might alienate the allegi-
ance of other foreign officers. Instead of giving
the Admiral a commission for active service,
she furnished him with a furlough for two years,
and a passport to leave the country. His air-
castles, built upon the unstobstantial foundations
of royal favor, disappeared in a moment. There
was no alternative, for the occupant of the
throne of Peter never allows reason to dispute
with the imperial will. So, toward the close of
August, 1789, John Paul Jones left the Russian
capital forever; comforted somewhat by the
knowledge that his salary was to be continued
during his absence. Count Sager took special
pains to give a favorable construction to the
Admirals absence from Russia, both at St. Pe-
tersburg and at Paris; and M. Genet, who af-
terward became conspicuous as the Embassador
of the French Republic to the United States,
was ever his warm and active friend. The ca-
prices of Catharine and the favoritism exercised
by Potemkin were so well known throughout
Europe, that the leave of absence given to Jones
did not affect his character unfavorably. He
was soon made aware of the fact; for all the
way from the borders of Russia, he was every
where treated with the distinction due to his
rank and services.
While at Warsaw, Admiral Jones became per-
sonally acquainted with the noble Kosciuszcko,
~ who was then deeply engaged in preparations
to cast off from the neck of unhappy Poland
the yoke of Russian oppression. With that pa-
triot, the Chevalier conferred on the subject of
his entering the navy of Sweden against Russia;
an event which Catharine seemed to apprehend.
The Rear-admiral had been taught, by bitter
experience, that in the battle of public life un-
der monarchies, Every man for himself was
the general rule of action; and, while he would
never have raised his arm against France or the
United States, he was willing to win honor and
emolument for himself under any Continental
flag but that of the Crescent. He never entered
the Swedish navy, however; and a little later
the treachery of Prussia caused the dreadful
event in Polish history which elicited from the
pen of Campbell the burning words:
Hope for a season bade the world farewell!
And Freedom shrieked when Kosciuszcko fell I
The active life of Admiral Jones was now
drawing to a close, and his brilliant and de-
structive onslaught upon the Turkish galleys re-
mained his last notable exploit in his profession.
For a time he enjoyed a season of leisure at
Amsterdam, and engaged in his favorite pastime
of letter-writing. Of all his epistles written at
that time, none were more creditable to his
head and heart than one which he addressed to
Mrs. Taylor, his eldest sister. His mother had
been long dead, and only two of his immediate
family remained. He yearned to visit them,
but a fear of personal violence at the hands of
the people of Great Britain, who had been
taught to hate him as a monster of cruelty,
kept him from their warm embraces. In his
letter he expressed an earnest desire to be use-
ful to his sisters and their children; wished he
had a fortune to offer to each of them ; and,
concerning his orphan nieces he said, I desire
particularly to be useful to the two young wo-
men, who have a double claim to my regard, as
they have lost their father.
Toward the close of April, 1790, Admiral
Jones visited London to close the business of a
speculation in which he had been engaged with
Dr. Bancroft, and received, as his share of the
operations, about sixteen thousand dollars in
notes and money. He remained there only
long enough to transact his business, and then
hurried to Paris. In July, he addressed a long
vindicatory letter to Prince Potemkin, the chief
object of which seemed to be to procure the
coveted decoration of the Order of St. George,
to which his exploits while in command of the
fleet before Oczakow fairly entitled him. At
the same time, he called Poteinkins attention
to some new naval projects; hinted at the prob-
ability of Catharines favorite becoming a Sov-
ereign of Europe; and begged him to accept a
copy of the gold medal awarded to the Cheva-
lier by the American Congress. Jones was
anxious to return to the Russian navy, and he
thus cautiously sought to accomplish his object
through the good-will of the all-potent Prince.
But Potemkin never favored the Admiral with
a reply, and he remained in comparative inac-
tion until the following spring, when he made
a direct application to the Empress to be re-
called to her service. Catharine was as silent 168 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
as Potemkin, until, through Baron Grimm, her
secret agent in Paris, Jones submitted som~t
promising improvements in naval construction,
and asked for employment. Then Catharine
replied, that a general peace in Europe appeared
probable, and that wlien she needed the services
of Rear-admiral Jones she would communicate
directly with him. Now faded away his last ray
of hope of ever again walking the quarter-deck
of a Russian man-of-war, and the disappointed
Admiral dismissed eatharine and all her retinue
from the sphere of his aspirations.
Long exposure to peculiar hardships in va-
rious climates, and the chafing of a hot and
restless spirit in a delicate body, had implanted
in the system of Admiral Jones seeds of dis-
case which now rapidly germinated. The fatal
shears of Antropos clipped the wings of his am-
bition for glory in battle, and he began to con-
template higher and holier things. The lion
and the bear of his passions quietly lay down
with the lamb of his affections, and the young
child of purest emotions led them where it
pleased. Reminiscences of early years wove a
web of melancholy delight around his whole be-
ing, and he yearned for the love of his family
and friends. As the splendor of earthly mag-
nificence paled before the light of true appre-
ciation, his soul turned with tenderness to the
mild radiance which beamed from a higher
sphere. His letters to his eldest sister at this
time were full of pleasant thoughts, and kindly,
religious sentiments. A coldness between his
sisters troubled him. My grief is inexpressi-
ble, he wrote, that two sisters, whose happi-
ness is so interesting to me, do not live together
in that mutual tenderness and affection which
ould do so much honor to themselves, and to
the memory of their worthy relations. Permit
me to recommend to your serious study and ap-
plication Popes Universal Prayer. You will
find more morality in that little piece than in
many volumes that have been written by great
divines:
Teach me to feel another~s woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show.
That mercy show to me!
Sometimes his disease would abate, and hopes
of returning health would cheer him. Then
would come yearnings for the path of human
olorv Ambition made many cartoons of new
plans, and he contemplated a ceremonial visit
at the Court at Versailles. But the tempest of
that great Revolution which soon swept away
the throne, all royalty, and the flower of the aris-
tocracy of France, was then gathering stren~th,
and lie never saw the face of Louis XVI. again.
Then his sympathies were greatly excited in
behalf of captive Americans among the Alge-
rines; and he urged Mr. Jefferson, then Sec-
retary of State, to induce his government to take
measures for their immediate ransom. His stir-
ring petition was heeded, but he did not live to
see its fruits. His disease made rapid progress,
vet his mind retained its vigor, and he kept up
an extensive correspondence until the spring of
1792, when his vitality rapidly failed. Early in the
sumnier his malady assumed the fatal form of
dropsy in the chest. The Queens physician
attended him, and a few kind friends cheered
his last hours. Among these were Governeur
Morris (then United States Minister at the
Court of Versailles), Colonel Blackden, and
Beaupoil, a French officer, who greatly admired
the character of Jones.
Colonel Blackden at last assumed the office
of friendly adviser, and performed the painful
and delicate duty of urging the Admiral to set-
tle his worldly affairs and prepare fpr death.
On the 18th of July Jones made a schedule of
all his property. Two notaries were then sent
for, and Governeur Morris proceeded to draw
the last Will of the dying man, according to
the invalids own dictation. his veneration for
titles, which had been one of the weaknesses
of his character, disappeared, and in a clear
voice he directed his friend to write: Before
the undersigned, notaries at I~aris, appeared
John Paul Jones, citizen of the United States
of America, resident at Paris, lodged in the
street of Tournon, No. 42, at the house of M.
Dorbergue, hussier audiancier of the tribunal
of the third arrondissement, found in a parlor
in the first story above the floor, lighted by
two windows, opening in the said street of
Tournon, sitting in an arm-chair, sick in body,
but sound of mind, memory, and understand-
ing, as it appeared to the undersigned not-
aries, by his discourse and conversation, who
in view of his death has made, dictated, and
worded, to the undersigned notaries, his testa-
ment as follows : Then he proceeded to be-
queath all his property, amounting, probably, to
about thirty thousand dollars, to his two sisters
and their children, and made Robert Morris of
Philadelphia (the great financier of the Revo-
lution) his sole testamentary executor. He
signed his Will at about eight oclock in the
evening, when his friends, after witnessing it,
withdrew, leaving him still seated in his arm-
chair. his physician arrived soon afterward.
The arm-chair was vacant, and the little parlor
was deserted. On entering the adjoining bed-
room he found there the lifeless body of his
patient, the face upon the bedside and the feet
resting upon the floor. A few hours after his
spirit had departed, a commission arrived from
the Government of the United States, appoint-
ing him its agent to treat with the Regency of
Algiers for the ransom of all captive Ameri-
cans. Ilow the sight of it would have soothed
his pillow in his dying hour!
When the death of Admiral Jones was made
known in the National Assembly of France,
that body passed complimentary resolutiuns.
and decreed that twelve of its members should
appear in the funeral procession. Two days
after his death his body was placed in a leaden
coffin, in order that it might be conveniently
taken to the United States, or Russia, if either
government should claim it. It was followed JOHN PAUL JONES. 169
to the tomb by quite a large concourse of citi-
zens, and the stipulated deputation of the Na-
tional Assembly. The funeral obsequies were
Performed at the serene and solemn hour of
twilight, and the ceremonies were concluded by
a funeral oration pronounced by M. Marron, a
French Protestant clergyman, who said:
Legislators citizens! soldiers brethren!
and Frenchmen! We have just returned to the
earth the remains of an illustrious stranger, one
of the first champions of the liberty of Amer
ica; of that liberty which so gloriously ushered
in our own. The Semiramis of the North had
drawn him under her standard, but Paul Jones
could not long breathe the pestilential air of
despotism; he preferred the sweets of private
life in France, now free, to the & lat of title~
and honors, which, from an usurped throne,
were lavished upon him by Catharine. But the
fame of the great man survives; his portion is
immortality. And what more flattering hom-
age can we offer to t4se manes of Paul Jon ~s,
SIONING TUE WILL. 170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
than to swear on his tomb to live or to die free?
Let this be the vow and watchword of every
Frenchman!
Let neither tyrants nor their satellites ever
pollute this sacred earth! May the ashes of
the great man, too soon lost to humanity, enjoy
here an undisturbed repose! May his example
teach posterity the efforts which noble souls are
capable of making, when stimulated by hatred
to oppression.
Friends and brethren! a noble emulation
brightens in your looks; your time is precious;
your country is in danger! Who among us
would not shed the last drop of his blood to
save it? Identify yourselves with the glory of
Paul Jones, in imitating his contempt for dan-
ger, his devotion to his country, and the noble
heroism which, after having astonished the pres-
ent age, will continue to call forth the venera-
tion of ages to come !
In this manner, and in the midst of the ter-
ble waves of a bloody Revolution then surging
fearfully over Paris, the son of the humble gar-
dener of Arbigland was hidden away from mor-
tal vision, at the age of forty-five years. Nei-
ther the government of the United States nor
that of Russia ever claimed his remains for
burial or mounmental honor, and the place of
his sepulchre is unknown to the present gen-
eration!
TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO.
ON the 8th of March, 1846, General Taylor
broke up his camp at Corpus Christi in
Texas, and marched toward the Rio Grande.
In the eyes of the Mexicans, the movement was
an act of war. Though Texas had been ten
years independent and unmolested by the Power
which still claimed a nominal sovereignty over
her; though she had solicited and obtained ad-
mission, over a year before, into the family of
the United States, Mexico still regarded her as
a dependency, and protested against the occu-
pation of her territory by our troops as an in-.
vasion of Mexican soil. Furthermore, Mexico
denied that Texas extended to the Rio Grande,
as asserted in the treaty which followed the
battle of San Jacinto; and persisted in regard-
ing the River Nueces as the proper southern
boundary of her rebellious province. When,
therefore, the United States army, not content
with occupying Corpus Christi and the whole
of Texas to the north of the Nueces, began to
march southward, the double affront roused the
Mexican spirit to fever heat, and preparations
were instantly made for war.
Fully apprised of the temper of the southern
republic, our little army, about 3500 strong,
struck their tents at Corpus Christi with alac-
rity and glee. They were in perfect condition
and discipline. Among their officers they count-
ed several who had fought thirty years before
on the northern frontier; and a large propor-
tion of the men had been inured to the hard-
ships of warfare in the campaigns against the
Indians. The recruits, full of youthful ardor
and hope, promised themselves to make up for
their want of experience by excess of zeal and
valor. All had unbounded confidence in their
general. Nor was their trust misplaced. Old
Rough and Ready was a model republican sol-
dier. Never doubting his own powers, he acted
and spoke with invariable decision and energy.
Thbugh fully conscious of the importance of
maintaining discipline, he was always accessible
to the lowest private in his army; and neither
in his mode of living, nor even in his dress, did
he draw any distinction between himself and
the troops he commanded. Danger he had
begun to affront fearlessly when his cheek was
smooth as a girls; now that his brow was fur-
rowed, his head grizzled, and his face bronzed
by southern suns, old Zach grinned at the
whistle of bullets as composedly as if he had
been ball-proof. No Spartan lived more plain-
ly than he. The coarsest food was his usual
fare, and the sod his favorite bed. I saw
him, says a volunteer, sitting in front of a
soiled and ragged tent, dressed in an old linen
coat and trowsers, twirling a straw hat between
his fingers, and dictating to some one within
the tent : not more composed, however, then
than he was when he stood in the thick of the
fight at Resaca de Ia Palma, or amidst the rain
of balls at Buena Vista. He had a Wagon
which accompanied him throughout the cam-
paigna clumsy, hard-seated, low-backed Jer-
sey concern, which he had bought by way of
luxury; but it was generally occupied by a
wounded soldier, while the General sat on his
old gray. As a commander he was daring,
prompt, and unshakable in his purpose; all the
army knew that when he had said a thing, no
power on earth could alter it. At the same
time he was careful of his men. While he com-
manded, no lives were needlessly risked for the
sake of glory, If the enemy oppose my march,
in whatever force, he wrote to the Secretary at
War, I will fight him But at Palo Alto he
would not suffer his infantry to advance within
range of the Mexican guns till the day was
nearly decided.
On the 11th March the last of the troops left
Corpus Christi for Point Isabel. They set out
in high spirits, but the trials of the march soon
put their endurance to the test. Eight days
they toiled over a country cursed by Heaven.
A broiling sun overheadbeneath, a desert,
with here and there a patch of rank prairie
grass, but generally paved with what resembled
hot ashes to the weary feet of the soldiers: no
water, save stagnant pools or glassy lakes filled
with a salt, unwholesome liquid: not a sign
any where of life or animated nature. Day
after day young men fell in the ranks overcome
by the heat, or sat down to die by the roadside,
as reckless of life as of glory. Many a poor
fellow who left Corpus Christi full of vigor and
martial energy, closed his career before the
army reached the Arroyo Colorado. It was not -
till the 19th that the advance-guard encamped
on the border of that stream. There the sol

Taylor's Battles in Mexico170-185

170 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
than to swear on his tomb to live or to die free?
Let this be the vow and watchword of every
Frenchman!
Let neither tyrants nor their satellites ever
pollute this sacred earth! May the ashes of
the great man, too soon lost to humanity, enjoy
here an undisturbed repose! May his example
teach posterity the efforts which noble souls are
capable of making, when stimulated by hatred
to oppression.
Friends and brethren! a noble emulation
brightens in your looks; your time is precious;
your country is in danger! Who among us
would not shed the last drop of his blood to
save it? Identify yourselves with the glory of
Paul Jones, in imitating his contempt for dan-
ger, his devotion to his country, and the noble
heroism which, after having astonished the pres-
ent age, will continue to call forth the venera-
tion of ages to come !
In this manner, and in the midst of the ter-
ble waves of a bloody Revolution then surging
fearfully over Paris, the son of the humble gar-
dener of Arbigland was hidden away from mor-
tal vision, at the age of forty-five years. Nei-
ther the government of the United States nor
that of Russia ever claimed his remains for
burial or mounmental honor, and the place of
his sepulchre is unknown to the present gen-
eration!
TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO.
ON the 8th of March, 1846, General Taylor
broke up his camp at Corpus Christi in
Texas, and marched toward the Rio Grande.
In the eyes of the Mexicans, the movement was
an act of war. Though Texas had been ten
years independent and unmolested by the Power
which still claimed a nominal sovereignty over
her; though she had solicited and obtained ad-
mission, over a year before, into the family of
the United States, Mexico still regarded her as
a dependency, and protested against the occu-
pation of her territory by our troops as an in-.
vasion of Mexican soil. Furthermore, Mexico
denied that Texas extended to the Rio Grande,
as asserted in the treaty which followed the
battle of San Jacinto; and persisted in regard-
ing the River Nueces as the proper southern
boundary of her rebellious province. When,
therefore, the United States army, not content
with occupying Corpus Christi and the whole
of Texas to the north of the Nueces, began to
march southward, the double affront roused the
Mexican spirit to fever heat, and preparations
were instantly made for war.
Fully apprised of the temper of the southern
republic, our little army, about 3500 strong,
struck their tents at Corpus Christi with alac-
rity and glee. They were in perfect condition
and discipline. Among their officers they count-
ed several who had fought thirty years before
on the northern frontier; and a large propor-
tion of the men had been inured to the hard-
ships of warfare in the campaigns against the
Indians. The recruits, full of youthful ardor
and hope, promised themselves to make up for
their want of experience by excess of zeal and
valor. All had unbounded confidence in their
general. Nor was their trust misplaced. Old
Rough and Ready was a model republican sol-
dier. Never doubting his own powers, he acted
and spoke with invariable decision and energy.
Thbugh fully conscious of the importance of
maintaining discipline, he was always accessible
to the lowest private in his army; and neither
in his mode of living, nor even in his dress, did
he draw any distinction between himself and
the troops he commanded. Danger he had
begun to affront fearlessly when his cheek was
smooth as a girls; now that his brow was fur-
rowed, his head grizzled, and his face bronzed
by southern suns, old Zach grinned at the
whistle of bullets as composedly as if he had
been ball-proof. No Spartan lived more plain-
ly than he. The coarsest food was his usual
fare, and the sod his favorite bed. I saw
him, says a volunteer, sitting in front of a
soiled and ragged tent, dressed in an old linen
coat and trowsers, twirling a straw hat between
his fingers, and dictating to some one within
the tent : not more composed, however, then
than he was when he stood in the thick of the
fight at Resaca de Ia Palma, or amidst the rain
of balls at Buena Vista. He had a Wagon
which accompanied him throughout the cam-
paigna clumsy, hard-seated, low-backed Jer-
sey concern, which he had bought by way of
luxury; but it was generally occupied by a
wounded soldier, while the General sat on his
old gray. As a commander he was daring,
prompt, and unshakable in his purpose; all the
army knew that when he had said a thing, no
power on earth could alter it. At the same
time he was careful of his men. While he com-
manded, no lives were needlessly risked for the
sake of glory, If the enemy oppose my march,
in whatever force, he wrote to the Secretary at
War, I will fight him But at Palo Alto he
would not suffer his infantry to advance within
range of the Mexican guns till the day was
nearly decided.
On the 11th March the last of the troops left
Corpus Christi for Point Isabel. They set out
in high spirits, but the trials of the march soon
put their endurance to the test. Eight days
they toiled over a country cursed by Heaven.
A broiling sun overheadbeneath, a desert,
with here and there a patch of rank prairie
grass, but generally paved with what resembled
hot ashes to the weary feet of the soldiers: no
water, save stagnant pools or glassy lakes filled
with a salt, unwholesome liquid: not a sign
any where of life or animated nature. Day
after day young men fell in the ranks overcome
by the heat, or sat down to die by the roadside,
as reckless of life as of glory. Many a poor
fellow who left Corpus Christi full of vigor and
martial energy, closed his career before the
army reached the Arroyo Colorado. It was not -
till the 19th that the advance-guard encamped
on the border of that stream. There the sol TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 171
diers hearts were roused by the appearance of
ranchero cavalry on the south hank, and the
sound of many bugles betokening the long-ex-
pected enemy. Men forgot their fatigue~at the
first blast. Weapons were cleaned, spirits cheer-
ed, nerves braced for battle. It came not, how-
ever. When the gallant Worth, at the head of
some light artillery, dashed into the river, ex-
pecting to hear the roar of cannon and the
splash of shot around him, all was silent on the
opposite shore, and for this time the army was
balked. The rancheros had fled. On the troops
pushed, over better ground in some respects,
but disputing the space for their tents at night,
and their blankets in the morning, with huge
rattlesnakes. At length they reached the Mata-
moras road, and from thence to the iRio Grande
the country sensibly improved. Pomegranate,
fig, and orange groves smiled in the distance.
Cattle were seen toiling in cultivated fields;
poultry and game tempted the soldier as he
thought of the hard fare of the past few days.
Above all, in front, rolled the blue waters of
the Rio Grande: nothing marvelous as a river
to those who had come from the shores of the
Hudson and the Mississippi, but a stream of
fresh water suggestive of cool bathes and plen-
teous draughts to these tired and thirsty bands.
Especially was it hailed with joy as the Mexi-
can border, which the enemy could hardly fail
to defend.
General Taylor had selected Point Isabel for
his d~p6t, and with the train and a party of
dragoons had left the army for thence on strik-
ing the Matamoras road. On his approach the
Mexican residents of the village on the Point
gallantly fired their houses and fled. Fortu-
nately for our army the dragoons arrived in
time to stop the conflagration; the d~p5t was
established, .and AI~eneral Taylor returned to the
main body, which marched on the Rio Grande
opposite Matamoras. Crowds assembled on the
Mexican bank to see the Stars and Stripes hoist-
ed for the first time within sight of the Rio
Grande: in all their domestic wars the good
people of Matamoras had never known such a
period of excitement. Within hail of each
other two armies were encamped, each waiting
for the other to commence the work of death.
Each saw the muzzle of the enemys cannon,
but shrunk from applying the match to its own.
The whole month of April was spent in this
waythe Mexicans in the city of Matamoras,
and the forts erected on the banks of the river;
the Americans in their camp, and a fort which
was being constructed en the Texas side under
the directions of Major Mansfield. Alarms fre-
quently roused our army, and the men flew to
arms anticipating a surprise; but, notwithstand-
ing the peremptory orders that had been sent
to the Mexican general Arista, he would not
cross the river. Parties of ranchero cavalry,
headed by the famous bandit Romano Falcon,
scoured the vicinity; and in one of their expe-
ditions fell in with Colonel Cross, a gallant of-
ficer, who was taking his afternoon ride. The
old man was pulled off his horse and robbed of
his arms, purse, etc.; then, it is said, the ran-
cheros proposed to take him a prisoner to Mata-
moms; but their savage leader, indignant at the
humane proposal, instantly rushed upon him and
beat his brains out with the butt of his pistol.
Lieutenant Porter, who was sent to look for him,
was surprised by the same party, and having been
wounded in the thigh, was butchered with one
of his men. A few days afterward, Captain
Thornton, who had been sent out with a party
to reconnoitre, was captured and caraled to
Matamoras. Stragglers from the camp were
sure to be trapped by the vulture rancheros.
These incidents embittered the feeling of our
men, and the intercourse which had been at
first instituted with the city was broken off.
On 1st May, General Taylor decided to re-
lieve Point Isabel, which was threatened by the
Mexicans and was inadequately garrisoned. He
left to hold the new fort (since called Fort
Brown) the 7th infantry and two companies of
artillery, in all 500 men, under Major Brown;
and, at four in the afternoon, marched with the
rest of the army. Peals from the church-bells
at Matamoras, ~nd loud shouts from the spec-
tators who lined the Mexican side, testified the
enemys delight at what they called Taylors
flight. Several Mexican regiments instantly
crossed the rivera body of cavalry, under Gen-
eral Torrejon, had already crossed above the
cityand Taylor was hardly out of sight before
the forts on the south side opened fire on Major
Browns position. Clouds of smoke arose from
the four batteries opposite to Fort Brown, and
round shot and shells rained thickly npon its
walls and parapet. The little garrison were not
dismayed. The 18-pounders were brought to
bear on the batteries immediately opposite, and
in thirty minutes two of the guns were dis-
mounted, and the upper batteries silenced. A
few shot were fired at the city, but the distance
was too great and the practice was discontinued.
Indeed, it was soon found that the quantity of
ammunition in the fort was barely sufficient for
defense in case of assault; and it was accord-
ingly resolved to sustain the fire of the lower
batteries without replying. The delight of the
Mexicans at having, as they believed, silenced
Fort Brown, was even greater than that pro-
duced by the flight of Taylor. Nothing, it
seemed, was now wanting but an assault; but
for this they were not yet prepared. Shells and
shot were rained from a safe distance. Arista
erected a new mortar battery behind the fort on
the Texan side, and played with admirable ac-
curacy upon the work; without, however, ef-
fecting any greater result than a mere annoy-
ance. Bomb-proofs of the most primitive de-
scription had been erectedstakes being laid on
pork barrels, and several feet of earth placed
upon themand to these the besieged fled when
a shell made its appearance in the air. For six
days the Mexican batteries kept up an incessant
fire. On the third day a shell struck the para-
pet, exploded, and a cloud of dust arose; when 172 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
it blew away, Major Brown was seen lying on
the ground, his right leg torn completely off by
a fragment of the shell. The soldiers crowded
around him; but their dying chief cried: Men,
go to your duties! Thank God! the country
has not lost a younger man. Ills leg was am-
putated, but to no purposethe wound was
mortal.
The next day the Mexicans approached with-
in range of the 6-pounders; and, for the first
time since the beginning of the siege, the de-
fenders had an opportunity of replying. It was
done with such effect that the assailants precip-
itately retired. Arista then summoned the gar-
rison to surrender. Captain Hawkins, who suc-
ceeded Major Brown in the command, replied
that, not being familiar with the Mexican lan-
guage, he was not very sure of the meaning of
General Aristas letter; but if it was a request
to surrender he must positively decline. Then
the shot and shells poured into the fort with
greater fury than ever. The men were con-
stantly occupied in watching for them, and at
last joked familiarly about their Mexican visit-
ors. The cook said the rascals had spoiled his
coffee by throwing a shell into the pot. Still,
the fatigue of watching was beginning to tell on
the little party. Unless relief came, they must
yield at last. Eight days had elapsed since
Taylor marched, and they had no news of him.
The anxiety of the garrison was worse than the
Mexican fire. On the afternoon of the 8th, in
the intervals between the discharges from the
batteries, cannonading was heard in the direc-
tion of Fort Isabel. A tremendous shout from
the fort welcomed the sound. They knew Tay-
lor was coming. They knew a battle was being
fought. On its fate depended their own and
that of the whole army. Their anxiety can be
conceived.
The evening before, the defenses of Fort Is-
abel being completed and a garrison left for its
defense, General Taylor marched with 2111
men and ten guns, two of which were 18-pound-
ers, in the direction of the Rio Grande. The
men were boiling with excitement and ardor for
the battle. At noon next day a long shout arose
from the advance-guard. They had come in
sight of the Mexican army in order of battle.
Apprised by his scouts of Taylors movements,
Arista had marched to meet him, chosen his
ground, and drawn np his army in a most ad-
vantageous position. The spot he had chosen
is a plain about three miles in extent, bounded
by chaparral, or brushwood, and clumps of dwarf
mosquito trees, called, by contrast with the more
diminutive shrubs of the country, Palo Alto, or
high timber. The plain itself is covered with
long rank grass, reaching to the muzzles of the
field-pieces; but not a hillock or an elevation of
any kind breaks the level of its surface. At the
extremity of this plain the Mexican army spread
from side to side. On either wisig the cavalry
were posted, their bright uniforms and lances
glancing in the noonday sun; between them
were solid columns of infantry, with cannon at
intervals. Gaudy flags and pennons waved ovtr
each regiment; conspicuous among all was the
banner of the celebrated Tampico battalion,
floating proudly over as fine a body of men as
ever carried a musket. Twas a fine sight, this
army, about six thousand men in all, in perfect
discipline and equipments, glittering with bright
steel and tinsel ornament, and evidently as eager
for the fray as our own. The lancers on the
left wing, under General Torrejon, were espe-
cially admired. There were a thousand of them,
gallant fellows, on fine horses, full of fight, and
splendidly equipped.
When the enemy was signaled, General Tay-
lor ordered a halt, and bade the men quench
their thirst at the pools by the roadside. The
colors were then unfurled, and the infantry of-
ficers reminded their men of the significant sen-
tence in the last general order: The General
enjoins upon the infantry that their main de-
pendence must be in the bayonet. There was
not in that army, small as it was, one man who
doubted what the result of the battle would be.
At two oclock the troops advanced in two
wings. The right was composed of the 3d, 4th,
and ~th infantry, Hiuggolds battery, a few dra-
goons nuder May, and two 18-pounders under
Churchill; in the left was a battalion of artil-
lery serving as infantry, Duncans battery, and
the 8th regiment of infantry. As they marched
forward, Lieutenant Blake, of the topographical
engineers, galloped out from the line alone to-
ward the enemy, never drawing rein till within
one hundred and fifty yards of their front; he
then dismounted, calmly adjusted a telescope,
and made a minute observation of their force;
which concluded, he rode back as coolly as if on
parade. Poor fellow! he had braved the fire
of the whole Mexican army to fall ingloriously
the next morning by an accidental shot from his
own pistol.
When our troops had advanced within seven
hundred yards of the Mexicans, a stream of fire
ran along their line, and round shot and can-
ister came whizzing through the air. Twas
the first of the battle. Swift as thought, Dun-
can and Riuggold replied with far greater pre-
cision; and the terrible 18-pounders under
Churchill roared louder than all. Through
and through the solid Mexican masses the round
balls cut lanes, and as the serried ranks closed
over the bodies of their fallen comrades, fresh
discharges mowed them down in their turn.
Taylors infantry were prudently kept out of
range; and the enemys pieces, directed against
the batteries, were too ill aimed to do much
mischief. Galled by the American fire, and
thrown into confusion by the unsteadiness of
their horses, Torrejons lancers begged to be
led against the foe. Arista ordered them to
turn the American right, which rested against
a clump of chaparral. They instantly disap-
peared from the field of battle, and came sweep-
ing round the clump in headlong haste. But
the movement had not escaped the eye of Tay-
lor. Before they wheeled round, the 5th moved TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 173
rapidly toward the point where they must re-
appear; and when the lancers emerged from
cover, our fellows awaited them in square. On
they came, unslinging their escopetas as they
rode, and firing a harmless volley into the square.
For a moment there was silence; then a rapid
discharge from the 5th shut them from view,
and when the smoke rose the lancers had broken,
and with many an empty saddle were in full re-
treat. A loud cheer from the 6th hailed the
failure of the charge. The Mexicans were not
heaten, however. After retiring a short distance,
they re-formed and moved in the direction of
Taylors train. At the same time two pieces
of artillery, which had followed them, were
hrought up against the 5th. The moment was
critical. In douhle-quick time the 3d infantry
hastened to protect the train, and two of Ring-
golds guns, under Lieutenant Ridgely, flew over
the plain to meet the Mexican artillery. Both
were perfectly successful. The terrible volley
they had encountered from the 5th had made
the lancers cautious; a very few shots from the
3d put them to flight; and at the same moment
Ridgely opened on the Mexican artillery before
they had time to unlimber. So well aimed
were his guns, that the Mexicans turned at the
first fire, and sought refuge behind the chap-
arral.
All this time the roar in the front had never
ceased. It was now arrested by a singular acci-
dent. The wadding of the guns, falling into
the long dry grass, set it on fire, and immense
clouds of blinding smoke arose from the plain.
In a twinkling the whole battle-field was in a
blaze, and neither combatant could see his foe.
A dead silence ensued. Both commanders
availed themselves of the pause to change their
positionTaylor to pursue his advantage, Arista
to escape the murderous fire of our artillery.
The latter turned his whole line at right-angles
to his former position; the former pushed for-
ward his right wing, until Riuggolds guns stood
on the very spot at first occupied by Torrejons
cavalry. So profound was the silence that the
creaking of the wheels of the gun-carriages, as
twenty yoke of oxen drew them heavily forward,
could be heard distinctly. There was a moment
of fearful suspense, when no one could tell how
or where the battle would burst forth anew. At
length a gap in the smoke disclosed to Duncans
sharp eye the Mexican masses moving silently
down along the chaparral against the American
left wing. In a few moments the whole force,
with 1000 ranchero cavalry, in good order, would
have fallen resistlessly upon the 8th and artil-
lery battalion. There was no time for hesitation.
Urging his horses to a hand gallop, Duncan tore
round the burning prairie, under cover of the
smoke, till he neared its left side; then rapidly
unihabering, with match lighted, and guns
pointed, he awaited the foe. A puff of wind
lifted the vail of smoke; the cavalry were within
musket-shot, sweeping along with steady tramp.
The Mexicans hardly saw the unexpected ad-
versary when a thundering discharge from the
whole battery assailed them. Reeling beneath
the shock, men and horses rolled over in the
plain: the advance was checked. Behind the
horse, however, the infantry moved steadily and
rapidly forward, the Tampico battalion pressing
eagerly to the front. Duncan was unsupported.
A vigorous charge would have carried the bat-
tery. General Taylor saw the danger, and or-
dered up the 8th, with Kers dragoons, to sup-
port the guns. But the men whom Duncan led
sought no support. Dividing their aim, one
section poured its volleys into the dense col-
umns of Mexican foot, .while shells and grape
from the other crashed through the disordered
ranks of the horse. Yalliant as they were, the
assailants could not advance under that deadly
rain of shot.
Meanwhile the action had been resumed at
the other extremity of the plain. Riuggolds
battery and the 18-pounders reopened their fire
upon the masses in front of them. In return,
the Mexican artillery poured a stream of canis-
ter upon the guns. The range was closer than
at the beginning of the battle, and on both sides
the practice was murderous. In the excitement
of the moment, Colonel Payne begged Lieu-
tenant Churchill to allow him to sight one of
his pieces. He had hardly done so when he
heard his name pronounced in a plaintive voice
behind him. Turning hastily, he saw Major
Riuggold lyingon the ground, mortally wounded.
A shot had mangled both the gallant soldiers
legs, and laid bare the bones. Payne rushed to
his side. Take this, said the dying man
feebly, resting ~is head on his left hand, and
removing with his right a chain from his neck,
for my sister. Thus fell one of the best ar-
tillery men in the army.~ Beside him lay Cap-
tain Page, his face torn away by a cannon-ball.
The Mexicans had got the range perfectly, and
though their firing was slower than Churchills,
it never slackened.
Still, in many portions of the line a wavering
was visible. On the American right, their pre-
ponderance of metal enabled Churchill and
Ridgely to do terrible execution; on the left,
Duncan had just received a fresh supply of am-
munition and followed the retreating masses
with shell and canister. Desperately did the
Mexicans struggle against the irresistible tor-
rent which drove them back. Over and over
again Torrejon rallied a squadron of cavalry
for a charge, but each time an unerring shot
from the batteries dispersed them. The fate
of the day was sealed. As night fell the re-
treat of the Mexicans became undisguised:
their batteries ceased firing, and under cover
of the darkness their troops withdrew out of
range into the chaparral. Thus was won the
day of Palo Alto.
Worn out by fatigue, many of the men lay
down where they stood, and fell asleep before
the smoke had risen from the battle-field. The
surgeons and their aids, with torches, hastened
in search of the wounded, stumbling over
corpses, and guided by the groans of those 174 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
whom the shot had laid low. The plain was
strewed with bodies. Fifty-six Americans had
fallen, nine of them to rise no more; the Mex-
ican loss, which was far greater, has never been
accurately determined. Arista set it down at
252 killed, wounded, and missing; but it was
probably nearly double that number.
As the Mexicau surgeon-in-chief had fled
with his instruments, the wounded were left to
die on the field; the damp night saw many a
brave spirit succumb to the agony of thirst and
loss of blood.
Before daybreak next morning Taylor and
his officers were astir. Though the men had
encamped on the field, nothing was known of
the position of the Mexicans; the attack might
be renewed at break of day. But the dawn
burst on a deserted plain. The enemy had
fled, leaving his wounded on the field.
Several hours were consumed in providing
for these, and preparing for the march. It was
not till one P.M., that the army advanced to-
ward the river. It was late in the afternoon,
and the General had begun to think Arista had
fallen back on Matamoras, when a sudden rat-
tle of musketry, followed by the heavier boom
of cannon in the front, revealed the presence of
the enemy. A few miles from the Rio Grande
the Matamoras road intersects a ditch or ravine,
about sixty yards wide and four feet deep, called
Resaca de in Palma. In front it resembles an
irregular quarter-moon, with the horns to the
north, from which side the army was advancing.
With the exception of the narrow road, the
whole space inclosed by the ravine, as well as
its outside borders, is covered with thick chap-
arral, in every portion of which, with guns plant-
ed so as to sweep the ~oad, the Mexican army
awaited Taylors approach. They had received
reinforcements that morning, to replace the loss-
es of the day before; and the ardor of the new
troops, joined to the confidence inspired by the
uRdoubted strength of their position, had quite
dispelled the moral effect of their recent defeat.
The day was fast declining, and Taylor was
anxious to reach Fort Brown. The Mexican
army, about three times his strength, was, in his
eyes, a mere obstacle to be overcome as a mat-
ter of course. A few minutes sufficed for his
plans, and to rest the troops. He then sent for-
ward Ridgelys light battery along the road,
and the 3d, 4th, and 5th infantry deployed as
skirmishers through the chaparral toward the
ravine. Ridgely advanced under a sheet of
flame to within three hundred yards of the near-
est Mexican battery; then, rapidly unlimbering,
he opened fire as vigorously as usual. The skir-
mishers forced their way through the tangled
brushwood with such alacrity that they kept
pace with the flying artillery, and engaged the
enemy at the same moment. On their side, the
Mexican batteries thundered away, and the in-
fantry, posted in the ditch and under cover of the
thicket around it, poured in a destructive shower
of ball. It was clear that the cannon would
not decide this contest, as it had the one of the
day before. Now was the time for the infantry
to recall Taylors injunction. Well did they
remember it. Bursting furiously from the chap-
arral, the gallant 3d and 4th leaped into the
ravine, bayoneted or drove back the Mexicans
stationed there, and proceeded to form in the
hollow. Rallied by their officers, the Mexicans
returned to the charge before our troops had
formed, and again the steel line drove them
back. Onward then our brave men rushed to
the foremost Mexican battery, and carried it
with the bayonet.
But the road was nutenable. The powerful
batteries in the rear of the ravine swept it with
constant discharges. Ridgely had enough to
do to keep off the cavalry with his pieces, and,
as it was, his men were falling rapidly nuder the
the iron hail to which they were exposed. It
was clear that the fate of the day depended on
the capture of the Mexican guns. Captain
May, roared Taylor, riding up to the dragoons,
you must take that battery I I will do it, Sir 1
was the reply; and the next moment May and
his squadron were thundering down the road.
Ridgelys batteries were in the way, the men
stripped to the skin, loading and firing amidst
the rain of shot like very devils. Wait, Char-
icy, said their commander to Captain May,
till I draw their fire. The air was rent by
the ring of the light guns, followed instantane-
ously by the stunning roar of the enemys bat-
teries; then the artillerymen limbering up, May
dashed gallantly forward, far ahead of his troop,
through the ravine, and straight over the battery.
The guns were taken. Dearly bought, however.
In the act of cheering on the men, the gallant
Inge had been struck by a ball in his throat, and
silenced forever. Over the Mexican guns they
had captured, the dragoons had fallen so thickly
that May could only rally six men to hold them.
Seein~ this, the Tan~pico battalion charged with
the bayonet, and May was obliged to cut his way
back to the lines with one prisoner, General IDe
Ia Vega. But his glorious exploit was not des-
tined to be fruitless. Just as the Mexicans re-
took the pieces, Colonel Belkuap, with the 8th,
and part of the 5th, charged up the road, and
fell upon the enemy with a yell. Over the can-
nons and round the carriages a desperate fight
with the bayonet began. Man to man, and foot
to foot, every inch of ground was contested with
desperate obstinacy.
The cold steel was doing the work all over
the field. The infantry had rushed through
the ravine, and were attacking the Mexicans on
their own side. A party of the 4th, headed by
Captain Buchanan, stormed an intrenchment
containing a cannon, and drove off the gunners.
A squadron of Mexican horse immediately
charged them. They fired, and Corporal Chis-
holm shot down the commanding officer. Wa-
ter, water ! cried the dying Mexican, in pite-
ous tones. The corporal instantly stooped down
and I)laced his canteen to his lips. He had
scarcely risen ~vhen a Mexican ball laid him
beside his ex~)iring foe. TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 175
On another side MIntosh, with the 8th,
made a similar attack on a party of Mexicans
ensconced behind the chaparral. This was so
thick that the men could not force their way
through it. MIntosh alone, carried forward by
his horse, penetrated to the Mexican side. He
was instantly surrounded by a host of foes.
One man thrust his bayonet through his mouth
till it came out below his ear; another ran him
throu,,h the arm; and a third pinned him to
the earth with a thrust through the hip. At
that moment an attack from another side di-
verted the attention of his assailants. Dun-
cans battery had crossed the ravine, and threat-
ened them in flank. MIntosh rose from the
ground, and Duncan, without looking at him,
called upon him for support. The wounded
man could barely articulate; he tried to say,
Show me my regiment, and I will give you
the support you need.
The whole army had by this time crossed the
ravine and driven back the Mexicans from its
border. For a time the contest was maintained
with the bayonet; but despite the valor and
numbers of the enemy, in a band-to-hand con.
filet victory was sure to rest with the men of
the north. They fought with a ferocity which
appalled the Mexicans. From bush to bush,
from sod to sod, they forced them back, seem-
ingly as unconscious of fatigue as of wounds.
First one side, then another gave way. The
lancers, scattered and dismayed, began to charge
fitfully and recklessly, losing men and gaining
no advantage. At last, Duncans and Hidgelys
batteries took up a commanding position on
the south side of the ravine, and opened a fire
of grape on the broken masses. This finished
them, and the rout became general. The whole
army, with Arista at its head, sought safay in
flight. His camp was taken, with all his cor-
respondence and munitions of war. He had
barely time to rally a few lancers when the
dragoons and the light batteries were on his
heels.
Overthe plains, with the wings of terror, scram-
bled the fragments of the Mexican army, throw-
ing away accoutrements, knapsacks, and arms,
to increase their speed. -Horse and foot, Tam-
l)ico veterans and splendid lancers, were all hud-
dled together in confused masses, no man know-
ing his companion, or thinking of aught but
flight. For close behind them rumbled the light
artillery of the victors, halting ever and anon to
pour a deadly shower of grape upon their help-
less bands. On another side, the light infantry
and dragoons pressed hotly upon the hindmost,
slaking the savage fury a battle engenders in
the soldiers breast. There was n~ pity for the
slayers of Riuggold, or the brutal assassins who
would have murdered MIntosh. With bayonet
and sabre, with grape and canister, they were
driven like sheep to the banks of the Rio Grande.
There new dangers awaited them. Boats could
not be found for a tithe of the fugitives. Crowds
rushed headlong into those that were there, and
swamped them. Others dashed into the stream,
and perished in the waves. To add to all, the
defenders of Fort Brown, who had spent a day
of maddening anxiety within hearing of the
battle, assailed the flying host with showers of
shot as it reached the river.
Over one hundred Americans were missing
next morning when the roll was called. Thir-
ty-nine had been killed. The Mexican loss
was very great. Some said that 750 had fall-
en on the field; others, who are perhaps nearer
the truth, set down the number at 500. But
to this must be added the list of those who per-
ished in the flight ttt the hands of the pursuers,
or in the waters of the Rio Grande. All next
day the United States troops were busily en-
gaged in burying the dead; night came on be-
fore the sod was trodden down over the last
grave.
A few days were spent in repairing the dam-
age of the battles of the 8th and 9th May, and
fortifying Fort Brown. Then Taylor prepared
to cross the river and attack Matamoras. Dis-
sensions and strife distracted the Mexican
camp. Arista was for retreating without strik-
ing a blow; some of his officers recommended
a bolder course; but others, influenced by the
political intrigues at work in the army, second-
ed the suggestion of their chief, and Matamoras
was evacuated. Haggard and sullen, the rem-
nant of the Mexicah force slunk out of the city
at dusk on the 17th, and began to move slowly
southward. As they marched, some vented
openly their anger at the timidity of the gen-
eral; others gave way to grief at the misfor-
tunes of their country; a few committed suicide
in rage, and General Garcia died of a broken
heart. Of the splendid army which had made
such an imposing appearance at Palo Alto, bare-
ly 1800 disorganized troops remained. Mean-
while Taylor crossed the Rio at leisure and in-
vested Matamoras, awaiting reinforcements.
It was not till the last days of July that he
felt strong enough to advance into the interior.
By that time, strong bodies of volunteers had
landed at the Brazos, and had Taylor possessed
means of transportation, he might have led ten
thousand men against the enemy. As it was,
he resolved to do the work with little more than
half that number. Pushing up the river to
Camargo early in August, he reviewed his army
there, discharged all sickly and discontented
men, and selected from the volunteers the Mis-
sissippi, Tennessee, 1st Ohio, and Kentucky
regiments of infantry, two regiments of Texas
horse, the Baltimore battalion, and the remnant
of the Louisiana three months volunteers, to
accompany the regulars. The rest he stationed
at various posts along the river. On the 19th
August, General Worth, who had rejoined the
army at Camargo, marched to Cerralvo, and
the two other divisions under Twiggs and But-
ler followed shortly after. The march to Point
Isabel had been severe, but it was nothing to
this. Fever and other diseases had weakened
the volunteers in the camp at Camargo; heat
and thirst now threatened to put an end to theirHARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Ii ~
176
/
Q
z
Q TAYLORS BATTLES IN MEXICO. 177
miseries. In five days, Butlers divisionall
raw menmarched seventy-five miles, for the
most part through a barren country, where no
water could be had, and the thorny chaparral
was the only vegetation visible. At the close
of each day the men staggered as if drunk
breaking the ranks constantly to rush to holes
in the earth in search of stagnant water, hut
seldom finding the boon they sought. Scores
of fine fellows died by the roadside, and were
hastily thrust into pits dug at night, and cov-
ered over with a few handfuls of dry earth. A
whole month elapsed before the army marched
from the village of Maria toward the dark tow-
ering linc of the Sierra Madre, and encamped
within a few miles of Monterey. A squadron
of Mexican horse had constantly hovered round
them; and from their scouts they knew that
H
H
0
VOL. XI.NO. tiZ.M 178 HARPERS NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
Ampudia, who had succeeded Arista in com- camp. It is said that it was not General Tay-
mand of the army, was not far distant. Early brs intention to attack, hut only to create a
on the 20th September, Taylor rode forward diversion in favor of Worth. If so, fate over-
with the cavalry toward Monterey, never halt- ruled his plan. Major Mansfield of the En-
in,, till within range of its guns. He was ad- gineers, who was in advance reconnoitring the
josting his glass to examine the defenses, when forts, sent word to Colonel Garland to come
a puff of smoke rose from the brow of the cita- forward, having, as he believed, discovered a
del, and a shot whizzed through the air close practicable point for attack. The latter in-
over his head. The sound re-echoed through stantly descended the slope at the head of the
the mountain gorges, startling the main army, 1st and 3d infantry, Braggs battery, and the
and stirring the youn,, blood of the volunteers. Baltimore battalion, followed as he went by the
Forward ! was the cry; and soon the last di- piercing eye of Taylor, who sat like a statue
vision encamped opposite the city in a grove on the ridge of the hill. In breathless silence
called San Domingo. the army watched the steady march of those
The prospect was striking and lovely. Be- brave men advancing on as desperate an enter-
tween the city and the camp stretched a fertile prise as history records. Before they had neared
valley laid out in corn-fields, orange and acacia the point designated by Mansfield, the citadel
groves, and sugar-cane; all exhibiting a high had opened a terrible fire on their right flank;
state of cultivation, and wearing an air of mx- and the moment after a battery in front sent a
ury. The city itself, haif-vailed by thick fo- shower of ball and shell into their ranks. On
liage, gleamed brightly in the sun, as its rays they marched, never wavering, till the distance
glanced upon the smooth marble-like stucco between them and the garrison was so short
which covered the houses. A tall spire near that they could distinguish the faces of the gun-
the ceiitre marked the situation of the Cathe- ners. Then Fort Teneria, hitherto silent, poured
dm1; elegant residences and large factories dot- in a deadly volley, enfilading them on the left.
ted the outskirts. On the east a silver stream, The advance did not burn a cartridge. Against
a tributary of the Rio Grande, emerged from such defenses Braggs battery and muskets were
the hills behind Monterey, and wound itself as useless as popguns. Dreadfully cut up, and
through the plain, in the rear of Forts Teneria in some confusion, the infantry dashed into the
and Diablo. These were the easterumost works suburbs, and sought cover behind the walls of
of defense. Opposite the centre of the city, the nearest houses. But every spot was cx-
and advanced a short distance in the plain, the posed. From behind walls and from house-tops
citadel, with frowning bastions bristling with volleys of musketry assailed them as fiercely as
guns, reared its formidable front; on the west, the cannon. The advance broke. Barbour
two hillsIndependencia and Federacionon had fallen; Colonel Watson, in the act of cheer-
the north and south of the river, were crowned ing on his men, was struck down by a ball in
each with a fort and a battery niounted with his throat, and immediately afterward his regi-
cannon, and commanding that side of the place. ment, the Baltimore battalion, despairing of
Behind all rose the tremendous peaks called success, fled in disorder. Bragg was seen in
the Saddle and Mitre Mountains. Lofty spurs the midst of the hail coolly unbuckling the bar-
of the Sierra Madre, they resembled giants ness from his dead horses. The 1st and 3d,
standing over the lovely town at their feet, scattered and separated, sought wildly some
ready, in case of need, to roll enormous rocks point where they could use their weapons. But
from their summit and overwhelm its assailants, no one knew where he was, or whither to go.
At the foot of those mountains ten thousand To stand still was certain death; they turned
Mexicanshorse, foot, and artillerywere as- and fell back. As they emerged from the lane,
sembled to avenge the defeats of Palo Alto and a body of lancers fell with heavy swoop on
ilesaca de la Paima, and defend the queen city their broken ranks, mangling the wounded
of the North. Taylor had but 6645 men, in- and doing considerable damage among the fu-
eluding officers. The Mexicans lay securely in gitives.
their forts, and behind defenses of great strength; Meanwhile Taylor, ignorant of Garlands fate,
our men were in the open plain. They had can- had ordered the Mississippi, Ohio, and Tennes-
non and munitions of war in abundance; Tay- see volunteers of Butlers division, with the 4th
br had four light batteries of six pounders, three infantry, to move by the left flank toward the
howitzers, and one useless ten-inch mortar with- point of attack. Dividing as they approached,
out a platform. the 4th marched directly on Fort Teneria; but
Sunday night (20th September) set in dark before they had approached within musket-range
and cloudy with a drizzling rain. The plan of a tremendous volley laid low one-third of the
attack had already been organized. Worth, men, and the rest fell back. Decidedly the fate
with his division and the Western Texans, had of war was against the assailants. In the midst
marched through the corn-fields toward the of the confusion, Taylor rode up, and learning
western extremity of the city to attack the how matters stood